Guardian of the Gates
by Spinner Dolphin
Summary: Daine and Numair find a man in the woods, mauled by a spidren. He keeps his secrets close; a year after CoE, Jack Harkness is still hurting and still running. But something is wrong in Tortall and somehow, Jack has found himself at the heart of it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jack Harkness belongs to the BBC, as does the Doctor and everyone from Torchwood. Daine, Numair, Alanna and the Tortallans belong to Tamora Pierce.

IMPOSSIBLY LONG A/N: So. This might be the odd crossover to end all odd crossovers. But never fear! If you don't know one of the two fandoms, that's okay! I tried to make this fic friendly to people who only know one, since the crossover's so obscure. So give it a try before you turn away!

First order of business: **If you are a Torchwood fan, this will have **_**SPOILERS**_** for **_**ALL**_** of Children of Earth. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. **

Also, the Tamora Pierce universe is about as different as you can get from the Torchwood one. You should be able to understand it – Jack has to learn, after all – but it leans more towards fantasy than sci-fi. Just so you know. You may have to be a little patient, because Jack's not going to get an explanation until the second chapter. The Tortall universe is rather medieval, with knights and sorcerers and things like that. Basically, accept things like magic and talking animals and move on. But, I mean, we're Torchwood and Doctor Who fans, right? Accepting things and moving on is what we do best.

**Tamora Pierce fans: **You shouldn't need to know Torchwood to read this; I've tried to explain everything in the narrative. Everything takes place in Tortall and every other character should be familiar (to start with, but by the time the others come in, you'll know who they are), but the story's about Jack. You could treat him as a modern-person-comes-to-Tortall, although he's a bit more than that. Just be patient with him – I think you'll like him, even if he has made some truly awful decisions.

This story is complete at 27 chapters, and part two, The Spaces Between, (25 chapters and a prologue) is up and finished as well. There are even a few short stories that take place after all this, too, but don't go to those until you finish Spaces, otherwise you'll be beyond confused... not to mention spoiled!

And now, without further ado, I give you…

* * *

.

**GUARDIAN OF THE GATES**

**.  
**

* * *

_"I can't imagine a time when this isn't everything. Pain so constant, like my stomach's full of rats.  
Feels like this is all I am now. There isn't an inch of me that doesn't hurt."_

Ianto Jones, "Greeks Bearing Gifts"

* * *

.

.

IT HAD BEEN a little over a year. This, of course, was irrelevant. The perpetually young immortal man out in space had long since stopped keeping track. It was surprisingly easy.

He moved on with his life. His past burned angry scars beneath his skin but he moved on, never stopping and more importantly, never looking back.

He was called Jack Harkness, he was Colla Ruff, he was Daniel Walker—he was anyone and everyone he could think of, unremarkable or untraceable or both. He worked his business and he moved on. Always moving, because if he stayed—well. He never stayed.

Sometimes he was a hitchhiker, sometimes he was planetside long enough to travel on foot or by some kind of moving machine. If he was lucky, he found someone with a ship, and he could flirt his way on board. He wasn't picky; they could be beautiful or not, male, female, or neither. It was the ugly, overlooked ones that liked the company better, anyway. His wrist strap was still partially burned out, thanks to the Doctor, but he'd fiddled with it and he'd gotten the teleport working for short distance. He didn't have the parts to fix the Vortex manipulator properly, but that was alright, if anything was alright, which it wasn't.

He did not often see beauty in his travels, although if the horror got too thick he would leave; a stolen escape pod would do, or if he was unlucky enough to be planetside, a quick getaway into the woods would work just as well. The man who had been Jack Harkness for over a century had a high tolerance for horror, though, especially after—

—After everything. He tried not to think about it. Mostly, he succeeded. When he didn't, he tended to get himself killed. It didn't matter. He always came back.

Most of the time, he didn't care. Most of the time he just lived, reluctantly and without his heart. It simply was not worth it any more.

.

* * *

.

It was a clear day, a bright day, and Numair Salmalin thought cheerfully to himself that life did not get much better than this. He wriggled his bare toes happily on the warm stone of his balcony, and strode closer to the edge to meet the beautiful, beautiful woman waiting for him. The summer breeze whispered in the treetops, and Veralidaine Sarassri smiled at him coyly as he approached, her curls lifting in the wind. He grinned delightedly back at her, heart squeezing with young love and _gods_ how he loved her. Numair reached out a hand to tug playfully on a loose brown lock, hoping for a laugh or a swat and another smile, but her eyes - the color of coastal waters, he'd actually spent many hours thinking about this; they were blue-gray - suddenly went glassy and Numair frowned in concern. When she swayed, he lunged to catch her.

Perfection never lasted, he reflected ruefully.

"Daine!"

She staggered into the arm he threw out, gasping unevenly. He managed to curl another arm around her waist. "Sweet?" he demanded anxiously, "Are you alright?"

Honestly, it was always something. Daine was Tortall's one and only wildmage, and she was like a trouble magnet, he thought with something that would have been amusement if he hadn't been worried. Numair had followed her up to the balcony - she'd been trying to coax him to fly with her. Her magic was with animals, and as such she could transform. Numair, a black robe mage, could change himself into a black hawk and Daine had recently realized that this meant they could fly together. Numair put up a token resistance as transforming cost him more energy than it did her, but he always relented in the end. Frankly, it was too much fun to refuse. They were supposed to have fun. This was _supposed _to be a vacation. Numair sighed and tightened his arm around her, looking down in concern.

The young woman's smoky brown hair was scrunched up against his chest and her cheek pressed just below his collarbone. She was breathing heavily, wheezing as though the clear afternoon air were filled with smog. "Something's wrong," Daine managed to gasp.

Of course it was.

"Well, clearly," he replied, half joking as he swung her up to carry her out of the sunlight and back to their room. Flying was certainly not going to happen, not with Daine in this condition, whatever this condition was. He swallowed a faint feeling of alarm. Pirate's Swoop, and access to a healer, was miles away. "Can you breathe, magelet?"

Daine nodded and leaned her head into his shoulder, not so much for the support as for the closeness. "Yes, I'm fine," she assured him. "There was just—it was so sudden." She sounded confused rather than in pain, which was a relief. It was not like her to swoon; Daine was no helpless damsel. Numair tucked her closer and carried her through a shadowy archway and into a hall that led to their room.

"I can walk, Numair," she protested wryly.

"We're almost there anyway. Indulge me," he muttered.

She gave a long suffering sigh, but she sounded amused. Good, Numair thought. If she's amused she's not in pain. He was probably overreacting, but he always overreacted when Daine was involved, so nothing was out of the ordinary. He carried her without further protest to their bedroom.

It was was large and haphazardly furnished, roughly circular in shape with thick curtains over the windows to prevent draft. It had been Numair's before Daine had moved in with him, and he wasn't much of a decorator. He did, however, like quality, and though the armchairs in front of the fireplace did not match, they were both comfortable, and the bed was luxurious. As it was a tower, the walls were stone, but the floor was covered in several soft rugs. Numair strode purposefully across them as he made his way to their bed.

He set her down very carefully on the down comforter and then crouched in front of her, one hand on his knee and the other on hers. Daine crossed her legs and sat up straight, scowling at him. She sank a little among the bedclothes. "I'm not made of glass, you know." She swiped at a curl that had fallen into her eyes while Numair had carried her. It fell back in front of her face.

"Yes," he replied, tucking the hair away and brushing the shell of her ear affectionately with his thumb, "but sometimes I like to treat you as though you are. Just to make sure." He smiled at her sheepishly.

"Don't I know it." She replied, mock-annoyed, but the answering smile ruined the effect. Numair took her hand.

"What did you feel?" he asked, rising to sit beside her on the bed. Daine feeling anything at all was generally not a good sign. The last time he remembered her having such a reaction was not long ago. The thing had been a Chaos vent in the divine realms, and it had hypnotized her and made her feel ill.

Daine's smile faded. She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand thoughtfully. "It felt like an Immortal," she said slowly, "but it was all wrong. More wrong than they usually are." She frowned a little, clearly not liking her own explanation.

Numair gave a mocking sigh. He tucked an arm dramatically around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. "I suppose this means we're going to go looking for it," he teased. Daine grinned up at him, resting her chin on his chest.

"Have I told you I love you, lately?"

Numair smiled and bent to kiss her nose. "Yes, but it's nice to hear. Love you too, sweets." He squeezed her close for a moment and then rose, resigned. "Do you know where it was coming from?"

She shook her head, standing as well. Numair gave her a hard, appraising look, making sure that she wasn't going to wobble. She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled.

"I'm fine, honestly. C'mon, let's see what we can find." Daine took his hand and tugged playfully.

"And here I thought we were supposed to be on vacation," Numair lamented.

Daine laughed. "There's never a vacation," she teased and tugged again. He followed with a rueful smile.

At the end of the Immortals War and a few months after the cleanup, King Jonathan had told both of them to leave the city capital and take a break. When they refused, he had ordered them to do it. They had both been in the heart of the war, and he had said that they'd done enough. Protesting the whole way, Daine and Numair had left Corus and gone to Numair's tower. The vacation was admittedly welcome, although after a few days they had both started to grow restless.

Numair followed Daine through the bedroom and out, around to the stairwell. His tower was made up on one central column, with large circular rooms stacked one on top of the other. Outside of each room was a steep stairwell that wound around the whole tower, circling it three times top to bottom. This left space for windows in a few of the rooms, although they were rather small to prevent draft in the winter.

Daine trotted down the stairs and Numair followed dutifully. She stopped off in the mud room, where her bow was sitting on a bench, freshly oiled and polished. He smiled at her indulgently, waiting by the door. Daine was a fantastic archer, and her longbow, a gift from her father, was her pride and joy.

Numair opened the door and held it for her, blinking in the sunlight of the bright summer day. Daine slung the bow over her shoulder and they walked across the grassy lawn, kept trimmed by a few careful spells and a kindly caretaker, and toward a small barn, where they kept their horses.

The barn was shadowy, and as Numair strode to tack his patient, painted gelding, Daine spoke quietly to her pony, a steel gray mare named Cloud. Numair heard the mare snort in response.

"Daine?" Numair asked from across the way, carefully putting a saddle on a long-suffering Spots. Numair's horse-sense was beyond off; he was a brilliant scientist and a better mage, but when it came to horses he was rather clueless.

"Cloud says that it felt like a wolf," Daine explained. "She said the Bad Wolf's cub, who is not a cub." She scratched Cloud's neck idly. Numair put the saddle on his gelding's back and then realized that he'd forgotten the girth. He gave Spots a stern look and said, "No shaking off the saddle." His horse actually rolled his eyes, and Numair walked out of Spots' stall to get the girth.

"Does that mean anything to you?" he asked Daine over his shoulder.

Daine shrugged. "No more than to you."

Numair heard a _clunk_ and sighed. Girth in hand, he walked back to find that Spots' saddle had indeed slipped from the horse's back. Chuckling, Daine exited Cloud's stall to help him re-saddle his horse. Cloud walked out of her open stall, wearing only a bridle as Daine preferred bareback.

"It's certainly odd," Numair murmured quietly, handing Daine the girth. She took it and buckled it around Spots. She led the black and white paint out of his stall before giving Numair a leg up. Numair flopped and flailed before righting himself on the horse. He looked down at Daine who giggled and mounted Cloud gracefully. Numair rolled his eyes fondly.

Daine led him out of the stable and into the bright light of the afternoon, turning east.

.

* * *

.

_BANG! _

The man in the long gray coat appeared in a flash of bluish light from nowhere. He staggered and shook his head, clearing it. Frankly, he needed a drink.

That was one hellova jump, he thought sourly to himself, rolling up his sleeve to make sure his wrist strap was still in fine condition. He flipped open the leather and regarded the little computer. It bleeped cheerfully at him, and he prodded at a few buttons before looking up and glaring at the sky. That had been a sticky situation if he'd ever been in one.

Merchants. Organ harvesters, to be more precise. The immortal knew to get off that ship as fast as he could, or it would get very ugly for him very quickly. He did not like the prospect of those bastards killing him, taking his organs, watching him re-grow the organs and then killing him again.

Fixing it had been out of the question. They'd been working for someone who was working for someone else, far up into some ridiculous hierarchy. Once he might have made the effort to change it but he knew better now. He wasn't a hero. Didn't have the stomach for it, not anymore. So he ran.

This had been the nearest planet and the farthest jump for his poor wrist strap since it had burnt out, long ago. He was lucky the teleport was still working, if not the Vortex manipulator. So he couldn't travel in time. Big whoop. Space would do, and wasn't it all the same, anyway? It wasn't like he didn't have time to spare.

He looked down and then glanced around. At least the atmosphere was hospitable, not that it mattered. It looked like he was in a forest but he didn't recognize any of the trees.

He did not think about the beauty of it. He hardly noticed the light in the leaves, the green-gold glow of an old, prospering wood, and he head the birds, but their song did not register. The man only thought that he was in a forest, and a forest meant that there were small fuzzy animals about - or large, vicious ones. He didn't fancy being eaten.

"Brilliant," he muttered and headed west.

He noticed when the birds stopped chirping, and he frowned at the silence. There were no little animals, the man realized- nothing small scurried up the trees and into hide-holes at his presence. That was unfortunate because he was getting rather hungry. He'd survived worse, the man thought grimly, and then something sticky and burning hit his back hard and he cried out in shock.


	2. Chapter 2

The spidrins prickled uncomfortably at the back of Daine's senses. Numair quirked an eyebrow at her, wordlessly asking what it was, although he remained silent. Spots perked up his ears and Cloud snorted something uncomplimentary, but Daine hushed the pony. In her head she counted; there were at least four distinct sources in the distance somewhere. One of them was female. She opened her mouth to warn Numair that the danger was spidrins, but before she got a word in edgewise there was a shout that wound up into a scream and then choked off, somewhere in the forest.

Daine sucked in a breath, fearing the worst, and urged Cloud into a full gallop. The pony snorted and bolted and Numair yelped in surprise as Spots followed them without prompting. They flew down the road and then into the woods at a breakneck pace. There, to the left; a dark, hairy form scuttled gleefully toward a lump in the ground; the pink spidrin webbing, a trap, heaved sickeningly. Daine drew her bow and then loosed the arrow. It flew and embedded itself into the spidren, a female by the size of it; the massive, human-headed spider gurgled and toppled over, the arrow protruding from its neck. Cloud skidded to a halt and Daine dismounted.

Spots came up alongside her. "Sweets, are there others around?" Numair panted warily from the back of his horse, black, sparkling magic rippling around his hands. Spots, also panting, lowered his nose.

"Three," Daine said grimly, striding to stand next to Cloud's cheek, another arrow already notched in her bow. She kept the string loose and the arrow pointed to the ground as she scanned the forest floor.

There was a man on the ground, or what was left of a man. The spidren's webbing had burned right through his coat, although it was the strangest coat Daine had ever seen. It was wool, died a shockingly even blue-gray, and there was some kind of stripe on the shoulder. "Are you alright?" Daine asked, coming to kneel down beside him. She cut away the webbing, which no longer burned. The spidrin was quite dead. This man wasn't looking good either; her hands were soon sticky with blood.

There was a thump beside her as Nuamir dismounted. "I think he's dead, Daine." He laid a hand sadly on her shoulder. "Look, she bit him." The mage gestured at the stranger's right shoulder, where the fabric of the coat had torn. The spidren's fangs had left bloody, gaping gashes on the skin beneath.

Daine sighed as she looked regretfully at the wound. The venom would have killed him very quickly. Spidrins were nasty business. "You're right." They were too late. Sadly, she reached to close the dead man's eyes and leave him for the remaining three spidrens. His skin was cold and still.

Daine stood and regarded the body. Numair squeezed her shoulder. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's go ho-"

From the ground, there was a great, wheezing, shuddering gasp that cut off Numair's voice. The man on the ground jolted upright, flailing with a frightened shout. Daine, to her mortification, shrieked in surprise and leaped away.

"Mithros!" Numair yelped, taking a step back. The stranger gasped and rolled his shoulder. Daine stared at the smooth, fluid motion. Hadn't there just been a massive, gory bite there? The stranger's eyes landed on her, and he grinned fiercely.

"Bet you've never seen a trick like that," he panted, heaving himself to his feet.

"You're all wrong!" Daine blurted, unable to stop staring at him. He looked as though nothing had happened, although his clothing was torn and burned.

"Daine," Numair murmured, a token protest to her words. He seemed to agree with her, though, for he looked at the man with wide eyes. "While I am quite curious as to how you just did that," he said, "there are three more spidrens in the area, and I think it would behoove us to move quickly."

"Spidrens," the stranger echoed, still sounding as though he were out of breath. He dropped his eyes down to the dead one, with Daine's arrow sticking out of its neck. "Yes," he said, looking up. "Thank you."

Daine met his gaze evenly, and her breath caught at what she saw there. He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, and there was a curious quality to them, a strange age, as though they were older than the rest of his face - and what a face it was. He had a strong jawbone, a dimpled chin and by the goddess, those _eyes_. His dark hair was wild and mussed from the incident with the spidrin. As she watched, those striking eyes went distant, as if a gate swung closed somewhere inside him, and he bared his teeth in a charming, white grin. The effect was rather devastating and there was nothing for it - the man was _gorgeous. _Daine loved Numair Salmalin with all her heart and soul, but this man practically exuded sex. She'd never seen anyone more attractive in her _life._

"You're welcome," Daine spluttered, shaking herself. She looked back at Numair, her tall, dark and handsome mage and took a breath. He was clumsy, he was silly, and she loved him. Beautiful strangers were besides the point. She reached for Numair's hand and squeezed once. Numair blinked at her and then looked back to the stranger, tilted his head, and tugged Daine over to their horses.

"I don't suppose you have a horse?" Numair asked the man casually. "Was there anyone with you?"

Daine released Numair's hand and walked over to Cloud. She placed her palm against her pony's shaggy gray neck, taking a quick, steadying breath. _Wow_. Then she swung herself onto Cloud's back. The pony took no notice; she was staring at the stranger, nostrils flared.

Are you alright? Daine asked Cloud silently, concerned at her stillness. Part of her Wild Magic was speaking to animals and being understood; Daine could speak aloud or without words, and in this case she thought silence might be prudent.

Something's wrong with him, Cloud replied, standing ridged. I can smell it.

Daine frowned and glanced furtively at the man, trying to feel whatever wrongness that Cloud spoke of. Nothing. She concentrated, and then thought _maybe-_-

The stranger, still speaking with Numair and unaware of the silent conversation between Daine and her pony, huffed a little. The sound could not quite be called laughter. "I'm alone," he told Numair easily, his accent odd and twanging and like nothing Daine had ever heard. "Haven't ridden in ages," he admitted. "And I mean that. Ages." He followed them, steps silent against the forest floor and muscles tense, as though ready to flee.

"You're not from Tortall," Numair stated, gracelessly clambering onto Spots. The painted gelding, who had also been regarding the stranger with some unease, snorted at Numair and rolled his eyes heavenward when the mage nearly fell. Daine jerked out of her unsuccessful contemplation and suppressed a smile at Numair's sheer inability to properly mount a horse.

"How'd you guess?" the stranger asked and his teeth glittered again in a charming smile. The tension melted from his shoulders and he jammed his hands into the pockets of his ruined coat, standing relaxed as though he often had his life saved by total strangers in the middle of the woods.

"I should think the accent and the clothes gave it away," Numair replied, taking Spots' reins. "Your coat is ruined, I'm afraid," he added, starting to take off his cloak in order to offer it. "If you—"

"_What?_" the man froze, the easy charm melting from his face like a wax mask. Something flashed in Daine's magical senses and she glanced at Numair in surprise. Numair wasn't looking at her. He was blinking, bemused, at the stranger, who was muttering, "No, no, no," as he swiftly shucked his coat. The back was badly burned from the spidrin's webbing. "No. You must have tailors," he burst out, now striding between their horses to look from one to the other beseechingly. "This—this can't be ruined," he added, and emotion dripped from his voice. "Not yet."

"We can get it fixed," Daine soothed, startled at the outburst and at the flare of _something _that had come from him. What was it? It was gold, she thought. Gold and howling, and as soon as she thought it, she forgot.

The man swallowed. "You have _tailors_?" he insisted, his blue eyes steely and wounded and _old_.

"Yes," Numair told him, sounding taken aback.

The man licked his lips and nodded, tucking the garment lovingly over his arm. "Good. Thank you. I— didn't catch your names." He shifted his weight, although he tried for another of those smiles. It came out as more of an uncomfortable grimace.

"He's Numair Salmalin," Daine introduced her mage, urging Cloud at last back to the road. "My name is Veralidaine Sarrasri, but you can call me Daine. Who're you?"

"Cap'n Jack Harkness," replied the stranger with another smile that tried, and nearly succeeded, in being bright. "Call me Jack." His compelling eyes gleamed in the light of the afternoon, spilling green and gold through the forest.

"Captain?" Numair asked as Spots kept pace with Cloud. "You're a bit inland for that." He glanced at Daine and she looked back, equally intrigued.

The man gave a bark of laughter, walking casually between the two horses. "My ship ran aground," he said, a dark irony in his voice that neither Daine nor Numair understood.

"Pretty far aground," Daine replied, puzzled.

The Captain's eyes went distant, but the rest of his expression remained cheerful and evasive. "It was long ago and far away."

Daine and Numair shared another intrigued look, but did not press him.

He's a wolf, Cloud told Daine softly, as though just figuring it out. Her hooves clapped against stone as they walked out of the shadow of the forest and into the bright light that shone on the road.

A wolf? Daine asked her, looking down in surprise at the pony's shaggy gray mane. Beside them, Spots' hooves clattered onto the road as he and Numair emerged from the woods, their new acquaintance still between the two horses. The set of his muscles was relaxed and he held himself casually, and yet his eyes darted, looking left and right with a strange urgency.

Cloud snorted, drawing Daine's attention away. Yes, the pony said, I do not know how, but he is. He was dead before. I could smell it. He came back to life.

"What?" Daine asked aloud, startled into verbal speech, and both the Captain and Numair looked at her. "Sorry," she told them sheepishly. Cloud rolled her eyes at Daine's carelessness.

"What, what?" Jack asked her with a grin just as the gray pony replied, I do not know.

"Never mind, I was talking to—" she gestured to Cloud's neck.

"Your horse," Jack said wryly, raising an eyebrow.

"My pony," Daine corrected.

"Daine's a wildmage," Numair explained to the stranger. "Well, _the _wildmage would be more appropriate – I don't think there's another like her. She can talk to animals, among other things." He smiled and Daine resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Well, anyone can talk _to _animals," Jack said. "They just don't often talk back."

Daine shrugged, and very quickly transformed her hand into a wolf's paw and back. That often quieted skeptics. "They talk back to me," she shrugged. Numair quirked a proud grin at her.

"Well," Jack muttered, recovering surprisingly quickly. "I've seen stranger things. I don't suppose you're a wildmage too," he added, turning to Numair. Cloud let out a bray like laughter, and even Daine smirked. Spots snorted derisively.

"She can understand me?" their guest asked in surprise, turning to the pony. Cloud glared at him, laid back her ears and champed her teeth around the bit.

"Sure," Daine said. She tugged the reins to prevent Cloud from following through with the threat. Behave, she scolded silently. "She's been around two-leggers long enough. And no, Numair's not. He _is _one of the best mages in Tortall, though," she added, just as proud of him as he was of her.

Numair gave her a pained look, and Jack raised his eyebrows, but did not comment.

.

* * *

.

Right. Humanoids with horses, and good people, if he was any judge. The magic thing was weird, but he'd seen stranger. Perhaps it was some form of telepathy, or telekinesis? The shape shifting was utterly bizarre as well but, then again, the planet Kordo was filled with that sort of thing.

Okay. Mages and wildmages. He could take it with a grain of salt – if these people believed in magic, then he wouldn't stop them. It might turn out to his advantage, somehow.

The man who wished he hadn't offered the name Jack sighed to himself, a little guiltily. This whole conning gig was not for him anymore, not really. These were good people, he thought sadly, and there was no need to bring the stupid universe into their lives. He'd been around scoundrels and thieves and downright evil long enough to know good when he saw it, and these two were it. He could tell that right off the bat. He'd even slipped up and given them the wrong name. God, he never wanted to hear _Jack Harkness _again, not after—not after everything. He should've called himself Colla Ruff. Colla was a thief and a bastard, and he could be Colla with little problem, but—

But these were good people. The only one of his many identities that was kind in any way, shape or form to good people was Jack Harkness. So the name had risen, unbidden, to his lips. Hell.

He'd slipped up about the coat, too. What was with him today? It was an incredibly stupid and risky thing to do, especially for someone with his years and experience. He was lucky these two _were_ good people, otherwise this could have gotten nasty, and he might have lost his coat. He still might, in fact. As it was, his slip of control had seemed beneficial; the show of emotion had seemed to soften them. Good. He would need allies. Jack hugged the beloved garment a little closer to himself.

Damn it all, he was not going to lose this coat, not to something as stupid as a shot in the back from whatever that thing had been. They had called it a spidren– he supposed the creatures were common, here. A native species? Damned if he knew.

Surreptitiously, he scanned the shape-shifting woman with his wrist strap. She registered as _human_, which was odd, and with a frown he scanned the man as well, with the same results. There was something wrong here; humans should not be off Earth for a few centuries yet, unless more time than he thought had passed. Never mind the whole magic thing.

It didn't really matter. It wasn't his business, was it? Besides, they thought that they had saved his life, which meant that they were trying to help.

He supposed that waking up after getting eaten would have been unpleasant. They had spared him that.

"Are you alright?" Daine, the woman who could apparently talk to animals, was giving him a concerned look. She was a pretty thing, all curly dark hair and gray-blue eyes. Her lips looked very soft, he mused idly - she seemed quite the catch. Her power, for lack of a better word, was with animals - that could make for some interesting times.

"Fine," Jack told her, and tried to blind her with a toothy grin. It must be pretty unconvincing, he thought grimly, because the man called Numair, so obviously her lover it was almost painful, eyed him oddly.

"I've never seen clothes like yours," he said. He too was a fine piece of work, was Numair Salmalin, all dark eyes and swarthy skin, his smile sweet and almost shy. They made an attractive couple, Jack thought. His pondered seducing one of them, seducing both of them, with the sort of disregard to life to which he had grown accustomed. "Where are you from, Jack?" Numair asked him.

"Far away," Jack replied with a shrug, not giving away his frankly lascivious thoughts. "Really far away."

"That's fair vague," Daine said dryly, and Jack gave her a blindingly white smile.

"Yeah," Jack agreed with every ounce of charm he could muster. "It is." It was time to change the subject, he thought grimly, because questions of his origins were sticky.

Hold on, no they weren't. He looked back at these two people - rode horses, shot a bow an arrow. He placed them as primitive humans, and if he was lucky, they were _very _primitive humans. There it was, he thought, the opening gamble. "You won't have heard of it," he added, watching their reactions.

"Somewhere beyond the Copper Isles?" Daine asked, all wide-eyed innocence. She didn't seem to even realize what she even looked like, what sort of information she was giving away, asking a sweet question like that.

Perfect, Jack thought darkly. Just as he suspected. They haven't even explored their own world yet. Excellent. No reason for them to know that the place he gave them would not exist for about thirty centuries or so. The best way to lie, of course, was with the truth. "Way beyond that," he said honestly. "Place called the Boeshane Peninsula. Told you you've never heard of it."

"And you speak Common?" Numair asked skeptically. Smart catch, Jack thought. He shrugged and indicated his wrist strap. "S'got a translator in it. It's keyed to me, though." That was true, too, and if these people believed in spells and magic, who was he to disappoint?

"That's some pretty strong spell work," Numair said, sounding interested. Success. "Would you mind if I take a look?"

"If I take it off, it cancels," Jack lied smoothly. He'd be damned if he let the technology out of his sight—besides, it had sentimental meaning, too. He rubbed the leather with his thumb gently.

_Don't think of Gwen, _he thought painfully, and suppressed the urge to run.

"When we get back then," Daine decided, and Jack let the memory slip away, forcing himself into the present.

"Alright," Jack agreed with the gorgeous young woman. Here and now, he told himself. Here and now, he was walking with two beautiful individuals, muscled and toned and lovely from riding horses, who just saved his worthless life. No reason to make them suspicious, and so long as the thing didn't leave his arm and his arm didn't leave the rest of him, he did not particularly care what they did.


	3. Chapter 3

"There's something wrong with him," Daine told Numair that night after dinner.

They were curled up together on the same balcony that Daine had almost fallen from that afternoon, sitting in a chair that was just slightly too large for one person, and too small for two. Captain Harkness had pleaded exhaustion from his travels and retired to the spare room that Numair had given him. Daine was rather glad of the fact, to be frank - something about their new guest sent little alarm bells ringing in her head, and not because he was attractive. There was something about the way his smile never reached his eyes, something about his easy laugh that made her wary. He felt like an Immortal, like a spidrin or a Stormwing - part animal, part human, and yet not.

"Yes," Numair replied thoughtfully, lips close to her temple, so that his breath whispered across her forehead. She hummed, enjoying the affectionate touch. "There is. His wrist strap had no magic in it."

"I know," Daine murmured, her cheek against his collarbone. "He feels like an Immortal. But that's wrong, he's a two-legger, isn't he?"

Numair stroked her hair. "He appears as much," he agreed. "I'm not getting anything odd off him at all, magically. He's not even Gifted. But my intuition is telling me that he's very strange indeed." Numair smiled. "He's a puzzle, my love," he murmured and Daine chuckled. Numair loved puzzles.

Daine shifted in his lap so she could look him in the eye. "Do you think there really is a Boeshane Peninsula?"

"Yes," Numair said. Daine frowned at him. He winked at her, tweaked her nose, and drew a little pouch out of his pocket. "Eyebright. Shows when someone's lying."

Daine batted at his hand when he reached for her nose, and instead reached and playfully tugged at his. "Since when d'you carry that around?" she demanded.

Numair nuzzled into her palm. "Thought it might be useful." He shrugged. She chuckled a little, stroking the bridge of his nose, and they smiled at each other for a moment before Numair's eyes went distant again, thinking of their new acquaintance. "Cloud is still convinced that he's a wolf?"

Daine nodded.

Numair sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. When he thought, he had a tendency to tug at his nose, but he couldn't because Daine's hand was already there. She smiled and tugged it for him. Distracted, his eyes refocused on her and her smile became a teasing grin. He stuck his tongue out at her. "Well," he added after a moment, shaking her fingers playfully from his nose, "we like wolves, don't we?"

Daine was a member of the Long Lake wolf pack in Dunlath, as was Numair, recognized as her mate by her friends. She smiled. "We do. I suppose this means we're—what d'you call it?"

"Giving him the benefit of a doubt," Numair supplied, pulling her back against his chest. Daine let him, resting comfortably with her cheek against his collarbone.

"That's the one. Giving him the benefit of a doubt." Daine snuggled into his arms contentedly.

.

* * *

.

Jack leaned his forehead against the door frame.

Yes, he thought sadly. These were good people. That meant he had to get away, and fast.

For no reason at all, they'd given him a meal and a room for the night – the nicest meal and the most comfortable room he'd had for a long time. Why, the last time he'd had such a nice meal had been—

With Ianto, of course. Something painful touched his heart. Was it really that long ago? A nice warm meal, chicken and wine and a fireplace and company that meant him no harm? Yes, he thought grimly, unable to stop the memory of a glass enclosure filled with smoke and the weight of a dying man in his arms_._ It had been that long ago. Cargo ships and black market traders always had lukewarm food and cold eyes.

Ianto's eyes had been - but he stopped the thought right there, before it got out of hand. Dead and gone, he told himself viciously. Jack glanced back at the silhouette of the two cuddled on the balcony, a shadow against the brilliant stars, and felt a moment of regret.

And here were these two, he mused as he watched them, a young couple that he did not know, giving him, as they had said, the benefit of a doubt. They looked frankly adorable together, curled close and speaking in low murmurs.

If he were a different man, he'd kill them and steal their home, live for a while in their nice tower, use their goods. Or he'd play on their age difference, obvious but irrelevant, and work to separate them to secure his place here or even just for his own amusement. They were both quiet attractive - Jack could have his pick. Or he could have both of them; that could be fun, too.

He sighed as the thought entered his mind, and quickly banished it. He never harmed innocents, Jack told himself firmly, never intentionally. Even all those years ago, before the Doctor, before Torchwood, before he'd become immortal – when he was a greasy, untrustworthy Time Agent, he'd never hurt innocents if he could help it.

The thought was unconvincing. The nightmarish image of his grandson, standing in the center of a pool of light, calling for Uncle Jack in fear and confusion, begged to differ.

Right, Jack thought, taking a deep, steadying breath and forcibly banishing the memory, he never harmed innocents _for no reason. _His grandson had saved the lives of millions of other children. It had been necessary. _Necessary. _

As long as there was, you know, reasoning behind it, he thought sarcastically to himself. Because clearly, hard cold logic made everything better.

He swallowed.

Jack didn't need to sleep much; as an immortal, he found himself in need of less rest. Nevertheless, that bed that the two had shown him was warm and inviting, and the last truly inviting bed he'd had was, of course, with Ianto. Jack was _so_ tired. He moved away from the door frame and walked, silently, downstairs to his room.

.

* * *

.

There was a Girl in Daine's dream.

The room was faded, with vague shadows and darkness, but the Girl was golden and clear. She wore strange clothing, all pink and blue, but her skin glowed, and tears made tracks from her dark, shimmering eyes. Her hair was bleached blond, the way some of the court ladies did it, although it too glowed brightly, like the rest of her. There was a brilliant, burning light behind her, but it did not hurt Daine's eyes.

"I am the Bad Wolf," the Girl said, voice indistinct, as though Daine was listening to her from underwater. "… Scatter, in time and space. A message."

"Bad Wolf?" Daine felt herself echoing. "Who is Jack Harkness?"

"Protected…" the Girl replied, eyes focused beyond Daine, as though there were someone standing behind her. When Daine looked, however, she could see nothing and no one, just the dark and the blue shadows.

"What?"

"I bring _life,_" the Girl told the thing behind Daine urgently. "But why do they hurt?"

"Who hurts?" Daine asked. She took a tentative step towards the Girl. "I don't understand."

"My head… is killing me…"

Pain exploded behind Daine's eyelids and she yelled, sitting bolt upright, heavy blankets falling around her waist.

"Daine!"

She was in her bed, Daine thought wildly, in her dark room, with Numair beside her. He had jolted awake with her, alarmed, and he wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders in concern. "Are you alright?"

Daine looked at him with wide, wild eyes for a moment, willing her pounding heart to calm and the sharp pain in the center of her forehead to fade. The shadows of the room were not the blue of her dream; instead they were gray and navy and familiar. The room was dark and warm and safe, utterly safe, unlike the vague, urgent danger that had emanated from the room in her dream. The blankets at her waist were soft and cozy, and Numair was a comforting presence beside her. Numair's other arm came up around her waist, and Daine realized that she was shaking from the pain. "Sweet?" His voice was anxious, and she could just barely make out his eyes in the darkness.

Safe. Beloved. She leaned into Numair's arms.

There was a thump and a thud downstairs and after a moment Jack Harkness flung their door open with a bang, racing into the room, without a shirt. Daine jumped, and Numair hissed in surprise, hand out, ready to cast a defensive spell. Jack stared at them, breathing heavily. "Someone yelled," he said urgently. "And not in a good way. Are you alright?"

The tense set of Numair's shoulders relaxed, and his arm curled back around Daine. "Thank you for your concern," he started, kindly but sternly, pulling Daine protectively to his chest, "but I think—"

"My head," Daine interrupted, speaking for the first time. The pain had faded enough for her to think properly, sliding from the center of her forehead to the pressure points above her ears. She clutched at her temples.

Jack hung awkwardly by the door as Numair rubbed at Daine's scalp. "Dearest?" he asked, eyes dark with worry.

"A dream," Daine wheezed as the pain faded. "That's all. There was—golden light. And a Girl." She looked up at Jack hovering there by the door. The man was actually naked; he had a sheet clutched to his waist like an afterthought. He had been part of her dream, she was almost sure of it, although she could not recall him actually being there."I'm sorry I woke you," she said.

"S'alright. You can wake me up anytime," he replied with a bright grin, but Numair's eyes flashed, his arms tightening around her.

"If you do not mind," the mage said coldly, "We would like some time alone."

"Right," Jack muttered, startled, as though realizing that what he had said was unacceptable but unsure why. "Right. I'll see you in the morning. Sorry." He left, sheets trailing behind him.

"Numair," Daine reproached gently. The pain had faded almost completely now, and she smiled at him.

"He flirted with you. While you were in bed. With me." Numair spluttered, indignant. Daine chuckled.

"Did he bruise your poor ego?" She tugged playfully on a loose strand of his long dark hair. "Are you afraid I'll run off with that strange man we found in the woods, my love?"

"How are you feeling?" Numair countered, gently rubbing her temples with his fingers. "Does it still hurt?"

Daine frowned and shook her head, "No. It's gone now. That was—weird."

"Yes. You said there was a girl in your dream." His fingers smoothed tenderly along her hairline. "Can you remember anything else?"

Daine shook her head. "It's gone now." She smiled at him and he smiled back, though tentatively, clearly still worried. Silly man.

She reached to kiss him, and he held her close for a long moment. Then he pulled back.

"I can't _believe_ he flirted with you," Numair growled and Daine laughed, bright and amused.

"You have nothing to worry about," she said warmly, cupping his cheek.

"He's younger," Numair muttered, leaning into the touch, always self-conscious about his age.

Daine stroked his cheek with her thumb tenderly, smiling at him, ready to reassure him, yet again, that she could not care less that Numair was roughly fourteen years her senior. Then she frowned, looking thoughtful. "I don't think so, Numair," she murmured, stroking his cheek. "I think—I think he's older than he looks."

"Better looking," Numair sulked, but he leaned into her hand.

"Never!"

They smiled at each other, and Numair kissed her this time. "I'm glad to hear it," he whispered, and Daine giggled.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack felt the sunlight from the window on his skin, and there was something warm and heavy on his chest. Ianto's bed was soft and luxurious, far more than anything Jack would ever sleep in on his own. Jack sighed contentedly, snuggling into the pillows and enjoying the warm weight. He'd had such awful dreams last night; it was no wonder he'd given up sleeping. There was, however, something to be said for waking up sprawled on a comfortable bed with Ianto draped across him. Eyes still closed, Jack smiled and reached up to stroke his hair.

_-I am not your lover, immortal,- _a voice snapped irritably in his mind, and Jack realized abruptly that there was too much soft and not enough skin. What was that _smell_?

"Gyah!" Jack jerked upright, or he tried to; the thing on his chest was too heavy for any real movement. What he'd thought was Ianto's head and shoulders turned out to be—"A _badger?_"

_-What did you expect, the Queen of Chaos?—_

The creature was large and shaggy, and it watched him with cold, intelligent eyes in a black and white face. Its heavy claws were braced on the blanket covering Jack's chest, and its wet nose was inches above his own. It was, very definitely, not Ianto. Jack stared, and then composed himself. Well, he reasoned, he'd seen stranger in his lifetime. Telepathic badgers that came from nowhere were not entirely out of the question. What was the worst that could happen? It was not like it could kill him.

"Well, certainly not a talking badger," he replied gamely, not missing a beat, and tilted his chin down to observe the creature in question. "What can I do for you?"

_-You will keep Daine and Numair safe. — _The badger stared fiercely into Jack's eyes, and Jack looked steadily right back, not cowed in the slightest, although he was more than a little bemused. _–There are terrible things to come in this realm, and we find ourselves powerless. You will keep them safe.—_

Jack blinked at the demand. Well, he thought, this was a random set of circumstance."I will, will I? What's in it for me?" he asked the creature quietly. It was a question that the Doctor had taught him to stop asking, but the universe, in its cruel way, had reversed the lesson.

The badger on his chest huffed a little. Warm, musky breath whispered across Jack's face. He wrinkled his nose. _-Plenty of things,- _the animal said._ -Things that you will need, if I do not miss my mark. But we will bargain later, there are things you must know.—_

Things that he would need? Jack scowled, not liking the prediction. "Of all the people in the universe for the asking, trust me when I say that I'm not a terribly good bodyguard. Who says I'm going to help you, anyway? I don't even know who you are, or what you are, for that matter," he added darkly.

_-I do not care,-_ the badger said offhandedly, and Jack winced at the feel of the heavy claws digging into the blanket. How had he thought this was Ianto? The damn thing _smelled_. Talk about wishful thinking. _-I know you are from beyond these realms, and so you will understand things that are beyond the gods here,— _the creature continued.

Jack stared at the animal, feeling rather out of his depth, and not enjoying it in the slightest. Gods? "Who are you?"

The badger didn't answer his question. _- There are things you need to know, Lone Wolf,— _it reiterated, which was completely unhelpful_._ And Jack wasn't called Lone Wolf. He didn't think so, anyway. He wracked his brain. Where had that come from? Nope, the name didn't ring any bells. Of course, he had a bone to pick with a certain Wolf, but that probably wasn't relevant. Was it? How would this animal know? Jack barely knew about the Bad Wolf himself. This damn planet was _weird_, he thought sourly._ -This world is not like the others of your universe,— _continued the animal.

_Your _universe, Jack thought. That was odd, too. Oh, who was he kidding. He was lying in bed with a telepathic badger. The whole thing was odd. "Well, given the talking badger, I can see that," he replied without asking why this might be separate from the universe Jack considered as his own. There were more pressing matters, certainly, most notably that the creature must've weighed around fifty pounds and Jack was starting to have trouble breathing.

A heavy paw cuffed him swiftly. "Ow!" Jack complained, startled, shifting to cup his smarting head. "What was that for? And will you get off my chest? I can't breathe."

The badger complied and Jack sat up, the luxurious blankets Daine and Numair had supplied pooling around his waist. He patted them ruefully, almost immediately missing the warmth. The creature stood beside him, looking up and glaring.

_-That was for speaking freshly to me, immortal. You may be unable to die, but that is no reason to disrespect me. -_

_It knows. _The thought flashed an alarm bell in his mind. How could it know that Jack could not die? "Disrespect _you?" _Jack demanded incredulously, staring down at the badger, rubbing his head. His alarm did not show even in his eyes. "You woke me up! I thought you were—" His voice faded and his hand dropped. "I thought you were someone I missed," he finished bitterly, gathering a handful of the blanket into his fist uncomfortably.

The badger averted its eyes, actually looking apologetic. _–I am sorry about the ones you lost,— _it murmured.

Jack bristled. "What do you know of it?" he spat. This grief he could not hide. His knuckles turned white.

_-Yours is not the only world that has been visited by those you call the Four-five-six, Captain Jack Harkness.—_ The creature's mind-voice was filled with regret, and Jack felt a tremor run down his spine.

There was a silence while he stared at the badger with a slowly growing horror, more shivers creeping down his back. Unwanted memories rose to the surface, and he fought to push them away. _We are coming, _said the children. It was too fresh, the trauma too thick to lock behind a mental door. Anything else he could bluff - this, however, was still a raw and sore, and something he kept very, very secret for that reason. Suddenly, he was afraid. "How did you—" Jack began after a moment.

_-They tried to come. They failed.— _The badger's voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

Guilt hit Jack with the force of a train, and he was unable to hide it from his face and voice. "You—you stopped them."

_-Yes and no. The people here do not have the technology to communicate with them. They attempted to converse with the gods of this world.— _The badger bared its teeth. _–We refused. The Great Gods silenced them once, and they did not come back. We heard of your world. You have no gods to defend you.– _

"_Gods?_" Jack scoffed, forcing the most pressing matter of the badger's explanation to the forefront of his mind, and letting his memories of that awful week fade away.

_(A room, a box filled with blue smoke; a memory that would not, could not die. "A thousand years time? You won't remember me.")  
_

Jack swallowed. _I promise I will, _he thought, and shut the memory away. _  
_

The badger was glaring at him. _–Yes. That is why I'm here. I have been ordered to tell you where you are, and then strike a bargain with you.—_

Right. Conversation. Jack tuned back in. "_I'm_ in a very comfortable bed in Tortall with a talking badger," he scowled. Jack was no fool; Numair Salmalin had given him his location seconds after they had met, and he'd filed it away, like a good conman. "I know exactly where I am."

The badger gave him a skeptical look. _-_You _are on a planet that calls itself earth, but not Earth. This section of the universe forms a pouch. It is almost closed off from the rest, almost its own universe, but not quite. – _It regarded him seriously.

Jack blinked and then scowled, understanding. That certainly explained a lot. "I'm in a pocket universe, with its own laws of physics," he stated and then fell back onto the pillows of his bed. "I shouldn't be surprised," he told the ceiling. "I'm immortal. I'm mythical myself. Alright then, I suppose you're Clio, the God of Tampons, who takes the form of a great badger?"

It hit him so fast that Jack didn't even have time to blink. "Ow!" he yelped.

_- Do not mock me, Captain Harkness, - _the badger growled, waddling forward to glare at him from above. _–I am the male badger god, and I was assigned by Weiryn to be Daine's guardian. This whole world is in danger.—_

Badger gods. Good, he thought sarcastically, and remained supine, matching the badger glare for glare. "You don't want me to save your world," Jack said darkly. "And you don't want me to guard individuals. The people I protect tend to die."

The badger snorted and moved away. Jack sat up when it said, _-These two will not. –_

"What's in it for me?" Jack reiterated.

The animal regarded him coolly from where it was standing on the duvet, huge and stinking and hairy. Those claws looked pretty vicious, and its eyes were eerily intelligent. _–Well, for one we will allow you to stay here.—_

"_Allow _me to stay here?" Jack demanded indignantly. The creature huffed a little, annoyed.

_-This world is protected by the gods here,- _it explained,_ -We have our own laws, and we do not let outsiders in lightly. You were allowed because of your… unique status, Captain, and you are protected. We have lost something, you see, and we want you to get it back. If you help, you will stay. You will get warm meals and comfortable living. We can offer you favors – a few of the gods would act in your stead, if you so wish. –_

Jack frowned, although the conman in him was suddenly paying rapt attention."What sort of favors are you offering?"

The badger gave the impression of shrugging. _-Almost anything you wish. The Great Gods are willing. Do you want monetary payment? We can get you gold. Food? Clothes? We can fix that coat of yours, if you like.—_

"The coat is not a bargaining piece," Jack said flatly, and the badger did not bat an eye.

_-Very well. Will you help? –_

"Give me a day or two to get my coat fixed," Jack told the animal slowly, "I'll think about it. Once it's fixed, we'll talk."

_-Very well.—_

Silver light filled the room, and the badger was gone. Jack stared at the ceiling. "That," he said very slowly, "Was one of the oddest things that I have ever seen, and that is definitely saying something."


	5. Chapter 5

Numair stood in the kitchen, humming a little to himself as he cut fruit on a plate. Daine was off flying, as she often did early each morning, checking the weather and stretching her wings. This left Numair on his own, preparing breakfast. He rather liked his private mornings, all things considered; it gave him time to get over being grumpy from waking, and time to think. He sliced a strawberry in half because Daine liked them in halves, the knife thudding in a satisfying sort of way against the wooden cutting board.

Their guest had still not shown himself and breakfast was almost ready. Numair put the strawberries on the plate and brought it, along with a plate full of scrambled eggs, out to the small table in the dining area. He lifted a robe from the back of a chair and strode to a window.

"Daine! Jack!" he called, letting his voice carry. "Breakfast!"

His tower was built in such a way that his voice should carry from this window to the guest bedroom window. Hopefully Jack would hear him; whether or not Daine was close enough was anybody's guess. The responding falcon's scream from above answered that question nicely, Numair thought with a smile. He stepped away from the window.

There was a short moment of silence after the echoes of the cry faded and then a small, familiar bird rocketed down from the sky. Numair grinned at her as she soared into the room and he held out the robe. "Good morning, dear one. How was the view?"

The small bird whistled at him and swooped to land on the floor beside the table, shifting and changing, and Daine, lovely and bare of clothing, was standing where it had been. She took the robe from Numair gratefully, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Fine! Looks like it's going to be sunny today, like yesterday. I heard from a turkey vulture that there are some clouds a couple miles off, but I didn't see any. How's our guest?" She tied the cinch on the robe, and then smiled warmly at Numair.

"Still not down," he replied, smiling back and then stealing a real kiss. When he broke away she grinned and he affectionately tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. Then, with a frown, he looked out the doorway and up the stairs, where the morning light made patterns of bright yellow squares on the cut stone. No one was watching; good. On second thought, Numair pondered distractedly, that meant that their guest still had not come down for breakfast. "Jack!"

"Good. I'll go put something on." Daine kissed Numair's cheek again with a playful smile and went to go upstairs, when Jack Harkness, dressed in his peculiar clothes, peeked out of the stairwell. He walked quietly, enough so that neither Daine nor Numair had heard him.

"Did you call?" he asked softly. Then he blinked at Daine in her bathrobe. "Am I interrupting something?"

Daine stared at him, and Numair felt his cheeks heat up. "Breakfast's ready," Daine told him, her own cheeks a little pink, before Numair could reply. "I was just checking the weather. When I shape change, I don't have any clothes." She shrugged uncomfortably.

"That's inconvenient," Jack remarked, stepping down the last two stairs and making his way over. "Well. Depending on the circumstance, I guess." He leered a little, but it didn't look heartfelt.

Daine stiffened and Numair growled. Jack shot them both a sidelong glance and then sighed. He strode over to the table and rested a hand on the back of one of the four chairs. "You made breakfast?" he asked, eyes landing on the platter. He seemed surprised.

"Eggs, fruit," Numair muttered sourly, trying not to glare obviously. "Go change, sweet," he added to Daine, voice a little imperious, which tended to happen when he was feeling protective. She shook herself a little and gave him a warning look, and with a nod to Jack, she left.

"Enough," Numair snapped as soon as the sounds of her footsteps up the stairs faded.

"What?" Jack asked. He had been pulling out a chair, but now he froze mid-gesture. The easy grin faded from his face and he suddenly looked ready to bolt.

Numair scowled at him. "We took you in as a guest. You will _not_ make Daine uncomfortable."

Jack stared at him, but he could not hide the sudden humor in his eyes. His shoulders relaxed, and he sat down. Scooting the chair up to the table, he grinned mischievously up at Numair. "What about you, big boy?"

Taken aback, Numair did his best not to gape at him. "I _beg _your pardon?" he demanded, flushing slightly. He hadn't been expecting that.

Jack looked at him up and down rather lasciviously, and then something broke. His face crumpled, and Numair just gave in and gaped, face reddening further, as Jack started to chuckle. Numair continued to stare at him in bemusement as Jack's quiet chortles became full blown guffaws, and he leaned back in the chair, laughing, voice cracking into hysteria.

"If you're quite finished," Numair snapped after a moment, pulling himself together.

"Oh, oh, it's been a long time since I laughed that hard," Jack gasped, still snickering. "You remind me of somebody I once knew, Numair Salmalin. Listen." He wiped his streaming eyes and leaned forward, all seriousness now, elbow on the table and he locked eyes with Numair.

"I'm sorry I made you both uncomfortable. First of all, I have no intention of- of doing anything to your Daine—which, by the way, she's quite the catch for you, so congratulations on that. Second of all, if I really wanted to, I doubt I could. She's tougher than she looks, I imagine, as are you." He quirked an odd, almost wistful smile at Numair. "And I can tell just by looking at you, you're both exclusive. Where I'm from, we throw this sort of thing around. That's all." He paused for a moment and then shook his head, sighing. "It's just words, Numair, but I'll tone it down if it makes you feel better. That's a promise."

Numair gave him a long, hard look. _Exclusive _was an odd way to put it, he supposed, but he agreed vehemently with the statement. The mage nodded and rested a hand on the back of a chair. "You ought to tell Daine that," he said, but privately made note that if the man took a step out of line, he would turn him into something unpleasant. A cactus, maybe? "And I'll trust you to keep your word."

Jack recoiled as though Numair had struck him. Numair blinked, surprised at the violent response. He pulled out the chair and sat at the table, watching Jack curiously.

"You shouldn't," Jack whispered. His eyes had dropped to the tabletop, and his shoulders were ridged.

Numair passed him a plate, bemused by his abrupt change in tone. "I shouldn't?" Had Jack somehow heard his internal threats? They weren't really heartfelt—Numair didn't make a habit out of turning people into plants, Tristan Staghorn notwithstanding.

"Bad things happen," Jack said softly, taking the plate and meeting Numair's curious gaze guardedly, "to people who trust me."

Just then, Daine thunked and thudded down the stairs. Numair's attention was effectively stolen away. He turned toward the stairwell to greet her with a smile and a plate full of food. "Eggs, sweet?"

"Yes, thank you." She accepted the food and sat down next to him.

"I apologize," Jack told her once she had herself situated. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Where I'm from - we sort of throw words around." He smiled, hesitant.

Daine relaxed beside Numair, and he felt some of his earlier tension leave him. Good, he thought. "That's alright," she replied with an easy smile. "I just wasn't expecting it." She glanced at Numair suspiciously.

"What?" Numair asked, the picture of innocence.

"What did you say?" she demanded, and Numair spluttered. Jack laughed.

"He didn't say anything," he grinned. "He was concerned for your well being, and you're a lucky girl, Veralidaine Sarrasri."

Daine blinked. Then she turned and looked at Numair, eyes twinkling. "I suppose I am," she said wryly, and Numair decided that he felt a bit more charitable to their new acquaintance after this conversation. He smiled affectionately at Daine.

She grinned back and then turned to Jack. "There's a town about two hours down the road," she said, picking up a fork. "We can probably get your coat fixed there, and you'll also need a horse; it's a bit long to walk all the way back to Corus in a few weeks." She took a bite of her breakfast.

"Corus?" Jack asked in a surprised tone, following Daine's lead and spearing a piece of fruit to put on his plate.

Numair started filling his own plate. "The capital," he supplied. "There's a castle and a city. If you need a place to stay, we can work something out."

"A place—to stay?" Jack looked baffled, pausing midway through taking an egg. "I—thank you, but I shouldn't be staying long," he added, depositing it on his plate. "I'm a bit of a traveler, you see." He dropped his eyes again and frowned, beginning to cut up the egg he'd just taken.

Daine swallowed a mouthful of food. "A traveler," she repeated skeptically.

Jack shrugged at her and took a bite of breakfast.

"I don't suppose you're going anywhere in particular?" Numair asked.

Jack shook his head, swallowed, and replied, his voice oddly reluctant. "Just traveling. Haven't got a home, not anymore."

Numair recognized that tone; he'd used much the same one, once upon a time. It seemed that something had happened to Jack's home, he thought with a pang of sympathy. Delicately, he changed the subject, much to Jack's apparent relief.

They finished breakfast, and Daine collected their plates to clean them. Numair rose to help her as did Jack, following his lead, but Daine waved them off. "You cooked, and you're a guest," she told them flatly, placing the dirty plates near the wash bin. "Go tack Spots; we'll head into town as soon as I'm done; we can get Jack a horse on the way." She pulled out a rag.

Numair nodded and gestured to a surprised Jack, who followed him out of the kitchen. "You really don't need to get me a horse," Jack told him dryly. Numair grinned a little and went downstairs to hold the front door.

"Daine," he explained when Jack caught up, "has no love of bandits. There are a few of them living in the woods around the town. They know better than to bother us, as we are employed by the king and they have run into us before with…unpleasant consequences, but this does not stop them from occasionally harrying the town. We'll get one of _their_ horses." He let the door swing closed, and then walked out to the small barn attached to the side of his tower.

Jack stared, striding across the grass to keep up. "This is something you've done before."

"All the time, actually," Numair smirked. "It's a service to the town, I think, don't you?"

Jack smiled that odd, reluctant smile of his again. "I think I like you, Numair Salmalin."

Together they walked into the shadow of the musty, dusty barn. Numair strode over to see his painted gelding, Spots, and Jack followed tentatively. The horse picked up his head, looked at Numair and sighed.

"Sorry, Spots," he told the gelding wryly. He turned to talk to Jack, and was surprised when he saw the other man off to the side, regarding the saddle rack. Jack raised an eyebrow and Numair gestured. "The one on the left," he said. Jack nodded and lifted it, walking over.

"Thanks," Numair muttered, opening the stall door. Spots regarded him with a look on his face that said quite clearly, _must you?_

"Sorry," the mage told him again, and slung the saddle over the horse's shoulder. Spots sighed again.

"Numair," Jack said very slowly, and Numair turned to look at him. He was leaning with his arm on the stall door and watching Numair warily. "I had—an odd sort of dream, last night."

The mage wrinkled his eyebrows, curious at Jack's reluctance. "Gainel has been known to send odd dreams," he replied evenly.

"The god of dreams, I presume," Jack muttered, almost to himself. Numair inclined his head. Spots considered Jack with one serious brown eye.

"There was a badger," Jack added cautiously after a pause, and Numair's eyes widened. Spots, recognizing the word 'badger,' wuffled in surprise. In the next stall over, Cloud lifted her head and pricked her ears forward.

"The badger god?" Numair asked, startled.

Jack nodded and looked relieved. "So I'm not losing my mind, then. Because where I'm from, talking to gods tends to mean insanity." He quirked his lips in a sarcastic half-smile.

Numair could not hide his curiosity. Why would the badger visit Jack? "The badger god is actually Daine's mentor," he explained slowly.

"Yes, he told me that," Jack muttered. "After he got off my chest."

Numair chuckled a little, leaning on Spots' side and giving Jack his full attention. "Daine says he tends to do that. What did he say?"

"He wanted to strike a bargain. I told him I'd think about it. Uh, Numair—" Jack lunged into the stall and caught Spots' saddle before it slipped off the horse's back.

"A bargain? That's not like him," Numair murmured, oblivious. "What sort of bargain?"

"I don't know," Jack said, taking the girth from where it rested on the seat of the saddle and then buckling it. "Just a bargain. I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing my mind," he added in a tone that tried for humorous.

"No, not that I know of." Numair replied easily, wanting to press Jack for more information, even though the man was clearly reluctant. He shooed the Jack away from his horse and buckled the girth himself. The mage tightened it, offered Spots a bit and led him out of the stall. "But still, the badger hasn't visited Daine for a while, and it's odd that he would see you, no offense meant, of course."

"Of course," Jack agreed. He stepped out of the way to allow the large gelding through. He looked at the bridle hanging from Cloud's stall door thoughtfully, and then picked it up to offer to the pony.

"I wouldn't—" Numair warned, as Cloud's ears flicked forward, and then went straight back. She snorted.

"Aw, c'mon," Jack coaxed the pony, who glared at him. "You know, there was once a weevil who would let me pat its head. That's not common with weevils. Good sort, old Janet."

Cloud flicked one ear forward and there other one back, regarding him with a sort of bemused scorn.

"What's a weevil?" Numair asked, halting Spots and looking at Jack curiously. "The only kind of weevil I've ever heard of are insects that eat crops."

"Hard to pat an insect," Jack said cheerfully. "You'd squash it."

Numair chuckled and then heard footsteps behind them. Turning around again, he saw Daine and his face lit. Spots nickered a greeting, which Daine returned by patting his nose. Numair smiled warmly at her. "Hello, love," he said. "Dishes done?"

"Yup." She grinned at him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Cloud snorted, and Daine turned to regard Jack. "Are you trying to put a bridle on Cloud?" she asked, amused. "She'll bite you, you know." The pony huffed and Daine walked over to pluck the bit out of Jack's hand. "Don't give me that," she ordered Cloud. "Be nice." She offered the bit over the stall door, and Cloud took it delicately.

Jack shrugged at her. "Thought it would hurry things along. No saddle?"

Daine shook her head and opened the stall door. "I prefer bareback, when I can. Numair's got the saddlebags for the day." She led Cloud out of the stall and mounted. Numair quirked a crooked smile at her. Daine always made mounting from the ground look effortless. He sighed and clambered gracelessly onto Spots' back. Daine gave him a put-upon glance, and Numair replied with a great, silly grin that had her chuckling. Gods, but he did love her, even if his riding skills, or lack thereof, noticeably drove her mad.

He looked down to Jack, who was standing off to the side a little, watching the exchange with an odd, wistful smile.

"Right then," Numair said awkwardly. "Shall we?"

"Lead on!" Daine smiled, and Numair inclined his head, nudging Spots to walk. Jack followed them out of the high roofed barn and into the sunlight.

"So is what Numair says about stealing a horse true?" Jack asked them both as they headed towards the road.

Daine grinned down at him and Numair chuckled quietly. "Only if you don't mind riding a bandit's horse. It might have to be bareback, I'm afraid, unless you want me to go back and get a saddle."

"That's alright," Jack replied easily, although he sounded somewhat bemused. "Although it really has been ages since I was last on a horse."

"Daine'll make a horseman out of you, don't worry," Numair said wryly, looking down at the man, and grinned when Daine glared at him.

They walked on the road for a short while, silence broken only by the sound of the horseshoes on the cobblestone. Suddenly, Daine pulled Cloud to a stop. Jack glanced at Numair, who nodded at him and looked at Daine. "Any luck?" asked the mage.

"They're about half a mile off," Daine said quietly, voice dreamy, as if she were in half a trance. "Actually—" she frowned, and then scowled. "You'll have a saddle, Jack, but the reins might be broken." Numair sighed, recognizing Daine's angry tone. This horse was clearly treated badly.

"That's okay," Jack reiterated.

"And be nice to him," Daine added. "He's had a bit of a rough time of it, and he'll be tired after running. He says his name is—Red, I think."

"Okay," Jack repeated.

Daine nudged Cloud up to a walk, and they followed. "He'll meet us a little up the road. Come on, then."

They walked in silence for about a quarter of a mile. Numair regarded Jack from his perch up on Spots. The man had his jacket folded over his arm, and he was still wearing those odd clothes from the other day – dark trousers made from a material that Numair did not recognize, strange straps over his shoulders and back, a blue garment that was not a tunic beneath.

He was clearly not from around here, and he was hiding something, although Numair did not know what. He was hurting as well, that much was obvious, given the way he had evaded the question when Numair had asked about weevils, never mind the coat. The mage pondered idly as they rode, wondering at Jack's tense posture and set face. A dark past, he mused. It seemed everyone in Tortall had a dark past.


	6. Chapter 6

The trail eventually forked and they turned a corner. Daine could hear him close; the large, dappled gray gelding stood panting on the side of the road, shadowed by the trees, eyes rolling and fidgeting where he stood. I only just got away, he said, breathing heavily. They had whips. The horse shuddered.

You're safe here, Daine soothed him, sliding off Cloud to tend to the gasping gelding.

The saddle had slipped down under his belly, and the reins were not broken, but tied to a splintered tree branch. His sides were slicked with sweat, and his dark hair matted and unkempt.

"Who names a gray horse Red?" Daine heard Numair ask no one in particular, and heard Jack shift his weight uncomfortably without replying.

Refocusing herself, Daine pulled the tree branch from the reins and took off the saddle. She ran her fingers through the sweat-soaked dappled hair and then stood next to Red, eyes closed and hand on his withers. The healing magic was simple; a strained tendon here, a few whip marks down his sides, but nothing deep. He was young, and he healed quickly. Red sighed gratefully and stopped fidgeting.

That feels wonderful, he said, although he looked around anxiously. The one on my back was starting to hurt.

Daine smiled at him. You won't have to worry about that any more. Still…

She frowned again, soothing tired, overused muscles. After a moment, and with a murmur of apology, she put the saddle back on. His sweat had dried, and the gelding informed her that he had not felt this good since he was a foal. Even still, Daine thought guiltily, she was making him work after a long run, never mind what he said. He deserved a bit of kindness.

"I'm leaving the girth loose," she told Jack, although Red protested that he was fine, "so mind your balance."

Jack nodded and approached cautiously, clearly unused to large animals. As he came up, he rested a hand on the horse's gray neck. Red snorted in fright and pranced back, rearing a little. His hooves scraped against the stone of the road.

There's something wrong with him, he cried nervously in Daine's mind. Daine whipped back at Red, caught up in his sudden fear.

What? Daine asked, alarmed. What's wrong with him?

The gelding snorted and he danced a little, tossing his head. He smells of death, Red panted, nostrils flared.

He won't hurt you, Daine assured him soothingly, bemused. Jack smelled just fine to her human nose. I won't let him, she assured the horse, and reached out to stroke his nose. He pressed anxiously into her hand.

"Is he alright?" Jack asked, having backed off at Red's obvious fright. He stood watching the horse with wide eyes, palms held out in a universal sign for peace. "Does he need to cool out before I ride him?"

Daine patted Red's nose soothingly and translated silently. You see? He is concerned for you, she added.

Red huffed and approached Jack warily, sniffing him again. The man held himself very still, watching the great, dark nose quietly. Daine's opinion of Jack rose, just a little, at that.

Very well, Red muttered reluctantly after a moment. He may ride me. But if anything dies, I'm dumping him.

"You do that," Daine told the horse aloud. She smiled at Jack, who was starting to look just as nervous as Red. "He says if anything dies, he's dumping you."

Jack quirked his lips, but his eyes were sad. "I'll keep that in mind. How do I get on if the girth's loose?" He reached out carefully to tug the hanging, sweat-soaked leather for emphasis. Red snorted at the close contact, but did not bolt.

Daine walked to Red's other side, touching his shoulder soothingly, and held down the stirrup. The gelding turned his head to watch with dark, curious eyes. The long ears pricked forward as he regarded Jack skeptically. "I'll hold it steady."

Jack mounted up, a little clumsily but nowhere near as badly as Numair—which was fair embarrassing, Daine thought with sudden amusement, eyes sliding playfully to her lover. Numair stuck his tongue out, and Daine snickered a little to herself. She checked Jack's stirrups, approved of their length, and went back to Cloud.

"We'd best get out of here, before they realize they've got a horse missing," Jack said uneasily, shifting his weight a little to adjust to the horse. He sat deep in the saddle and Red remarked to Daine, somewhat surprised, that Jack was apparently a more comfortable load than his previous rider, despite the smell.

Daine grinned, and Numair chuckled darkly. "Let them come," he said.

.

* * *

.

They reached town utterly unmolested. Jack was impressed despite himself. They dismounted at the gate on Daine's request, so she could care for the three horses. Numair tilted his head and led Jack through, and Jack's breath caught as they walked out of the shadows of the wall surrounding the town and into the light.

It was like something out of a renaissance fair.

The town was a little thing, all cobblestone and thatched roof, and Numair beckoned Jack down a winding street that opened up into a town square with a small fountain, barely more than a glorified well, in the center. Around it were stalls, rickety and wooden, brightly colored tarps strung up on posts above them. There were people in medieval garb, tunics and cloaks and breeches, hustling about in various states of cleanliness, and men and women stood and shouted their wares. It was beautiful, in its own smelly way, and Jack felt an involuntary smile, a true smile, touch his lips.

This was the kind of thing one saw when traveling with the Doctor. Jack hadn't stumbled on anything nice like this, not on his own. His smile turned into a delighted grin. This was fantastic. It was absolutely perfect. Humanity, or something like it, at its absolute finest, and it was wonderful.

"You alright?" Numair asked, glancing back at him. "Daine'll meet us farther up ahead; she's just gone to stable the horses."

"This is beautiful!" Jack enthused, turning to beam up at the other man, who was taller than him. "I mean it. It's stunning."

"Is it?" Numair asked, surveying the scene doubtfully. He seemed surprised at Jack's joy. "I was thinking it smelled sort of funny." He waved his hand in front of his nose, drawing an involuntary laugh out of Jack.

"Thank you," Jack told him sincerely and Numair gave him an odd look. "Really, thank you for bringing me here. You forget, out there…" he stopped himself before he said anything more.

Numair was still regarding him curiously. He opened his mouth to speak but Daine, who strode to them from a back street, interrupted him.

"There's a tailor a little ways down the block," she said brightly as she walked over. "The horses are in that stable." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. Numair's attention was obviously stolen away, and Jack smiled a little to himself. Numair Salmalin was clearly smitten with his Daine. It was a pity, but it was also sort of endearing. He refused to let himself think about how convenient it was.

"Thanks, magelet. To the tailor's, then?" Numair smiled and walked over to grasp Daine's hand. The gesture was a familiar one, reminding Jack momentarily of a Time Lord and a blonde girl running and laughing, and Jack just behind. He smiled a little, and let himself pretend.

"To the tailor's," Jack agreed happily and gestured for them to lead the way.

The marketplace was really quite small, but it was absolutely packed with people. Daine and Numair led Jack out off the crowded street and down another that wound in a strange sort of spiral. Jack enjoyed it immensely, thinking that it was rather like something out of an old, renaissance city. They turned another corner before Numair smiled and Daine stepped forward to knock on a door. A wooden sign hung off a pole above it, with an image of a needle and a curly, stylized thread. Not a moment later, a short, wild-haired woman stuck her head out. Her eyes locked onto Numair and she scowled.

"Back to squirm on my pedestal, Master Salmalin?"

Daine grinned and winked at Jack, who felt his own lips curl in a smile. "No, sorry, Mistress Carra," she said. "We've got a new customer for you. His coat was burned by a spidren; we were wondering if you could repair it." She nodded to Jack.

Jack, taking his cue, gave his best charming smile, although he knew it never reached his eyes. The woman looked him up and down. She smiled flirtatiously back at him and shooed the three of them inside his shop. "Let's see, then," she trilled, but as her eyes landed on the ruined coat, her face went serious. "That's very nicely dyed. Is that wool?" she asked incredulously. What, was it rare here, Jack wondered, a little bemused. He smoothed a hand down the much loved fabric.

It was army surplus, circa World War Two, a replacement from Ianto after his first got destroyed. The circumstance was not something he wanted to remember.

That was not the point. "No idea, ma'am," he said, reluctantly handing over the coat. "I just know it needs to be fixed. For—sentimental reasons." Jack swallowed. It was partially an act to tug on heartstrings, but it was also partially quite true. He really did want that damn coat fixed.

The woman grinned. She was missing four teeth. "Ah, I like a sentimental man. Let's see what we can do, shall we?" She turned from Jack to Numair and her face hardened. "Do you have payment?" she barked.

Numair sighed, although he looked amused. "Mistress Carra, you'll drain me dry one day." He passed over several coins that looked like gold.

Jack, surprised and slightly horrified, whirled at him. "No, no, Numair. I'll pay for it." He was _not_ conning these people. They had been too generous, and Jack did not want to harm such innocent kindness.

"Don't worry about it, Jack," Numair told him. The conman in Jack was telling him that this was too easy to pass up, but Jack did not listen. Besides, he told himself, there was no challenge in taking something so freely given, and where was the sport in that?

"You saved my life and took me in, and now you're giving me gifts? Don't be ridiculous." He dug into his pocket for something with which he could barter. It was odd to be paying _before _the coat was fixed, rather than after, but he supposed some places were more honest than others. His fingers touched a computer chip, a ring full of poison, a very small laser gun, some loose ammunition for the revolver clipped to his belt, and a short-range teleport.

Nothing he could barter with, not here.

"You haven't got anything," Daine said gently, touching his shoulder. "Don't worry. You can work for us, or something."

He was _not_ conning them, Jack thought furiously. There _must_ be something he could pay with.

Wait.

"Yes I do," he said, thinking, and knelt down to reach into his trouser leg. He pulled out a long, thin gun designed to arch lengthwise and clip around his leg.

"What is _that_?" Numair asked, eyes gone wide.

"You don't want to know," Jack muttered, thinking silently to himself, _and I'm not going to tell you_. Very carefully, pointing it down and away from everyone, he tugged on metal plating. It was a laser as well, and inside were three rather sizable diamonds, used as prisms to cut the light. Manufactured diamonds were not nearly as rare as planetside ones, and Jack had two other lasers on him, never mind his much-loved revolver. He could get another. Lifting a diamond out of the center of the gun, he held it out to the seamstress. It was the size of the nail on his ring finger. "How's this?"

All three pairs of eyes bugged. "Done," said the seamstress, snatching the rock out of Jack's hand.

"Now give the money back to Numair," Jack told her firmly, and his voice brooked no argument.

Reluctantly, she did so, and Jack nodded to himself, before beginning to pack up the gun, carefully screwing the metal plating back into the side. "Come back in three days," Mistress Carra said, placing Jack's coat carefully on a hook. "It will take a while to fix; I'll have to use my Gift."

Gift? Jack thought in confusion, but Numair interrupted before he could say anything.

"Can you weave spells into it?" he asked. Jack glanced over in surprised alarm, not sure if he liked the idea, but Numair ignored him. "I should think he's paid you enough."

Mistress Carra tilted her head to one side, considering. She raised an eyebrow at Numair.

"Fire retardant," Numair supplied. "And an anti-damage spell, perhaps."

That, Jack thought, suddenly understanding, was the best idea he had ever heard. He leaped to his feet, still gripping the half-repaired gun. "And a preservative," he added eagerly. Three pairs of eyes swung to him. "Something to keep it in good condition," he amended sheepishly because that was an idiotic slip, "for as long as you can. Can you do an anti-theft spell, too?"

Mistress Carra huffed a little. "Very well. Give me five days, then."

"He needs a change of clothes as well," Daine started, but Jack shook his head, not wanting her to pay any more, although he was sure the diamond would cover it. Still, Jack thought, he wanted to be able to leave quickly if he needed to, and that meant packing light. More clothes meant more stuff to carry, and that just wasn't worth it.

"I'll wash these," he assured her.

Daine and Numair looked at him oddly, but Numair said, "Alright."

Jack nodded and put the gun back together, finally, to put it away. It would work with two diamonds, but the aim would be off, and it would probably only stun, not kill. He clipped it to his leg and then tightened the straps. That Time Lord would be proud, he thought wryly as Daine and Numair ushered him out of the shop.

"I can strengthen those spells when she returns the coat," Numair remarked as they left, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Jack glanced over. "Thank you," he replied, surprised and a little guilty. "You've been too kind already."

Numair waved him off. "What purpose did that diamond serve in that thing that you have strapped to your leg?" he asked instead.

Numair was a sharp one, Jack thought grimly. There was no way that Jack would divulge this particular information. Anachronistic technology was dangerous. "You don't want to know," he told Numair darkly. "It's a nasty thing, and it won't work now. Just as well, really."

Daine looked at him for a long moment. "You're not _just_ a traveler, are you?"

Damn it all. _Damn_ it _all_. "I'm on the run," Jack snapped, shying away from the topic of who he was and starting to walk away. His shoes made no sound against the cobblestone street. "That's all you need to know about me."

"Jack," Daine said softly, compassionately, and Jack's heart twisted painfully as she trotted to catch up, "we can help."

"No, you really can't," Jack whispered. I need to leave, he thought, frightened. I need to leave, before I hurt these people, or before I become attached. "I'll just wait to get my coat back, and then be on my way. I don't suppose there are any inns in town?"

"Don't be absurd," Numair scolded him. "You're staying with us."

Jack looked down. "You shouldn't be this kind. How do you know I'm not a conman?" He _was_ a conman, he wanted to tell them, and every bit of kindness they showed felt like another con.

"Because you just asked us that," Numair grinned.

"Fair point," Jack muttered, and scowled. It was good acting, he thought grimly, nothing more. He shook his head. "But I really shouldn't stay with you." He could do it, too, so easily, if he wanted to. The thought was appealing. Pleasant company, good food, a soft bed—all at no price, if he played his cards right. He could stay with them for years, playing up the wounded-soldier act. Jack shivered. He had to say that being a hero was, if not easier, better than being a villain. At least he could sleep at night.

Usually.

"Work for us, then," Daine shrugged. Jack looked at her oddly. The only thing he thought that he could do for them in this particular timeframe with any reasonable amount of skill was rather obscene. Enjoyable, perhaps, but obscene. These two were too decent to want that, weren't they?

"Alright," he said doubtfully. "What would you like me to do?"

"Clean Numair's office," was Daine's immediate reply. Numair groaned, and Jack felt hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat. Too decent indeed. He stopped walking and held out a hand, unable to hide the sudden, amused grin on his face. Daine shook it.

"It's a deal," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

Three days later, Jack was still working on the office. Daine had not been kidding; the mess was extensive.

It made him think of Ianto, frankly. Brilliant, beautiful Ianto, who would've had the place clean and alphabetized in a half hour flat. And then he would've walked up to Jack, said something witty, and propositioned him. They would have then spent the rest of the time pretending to clean, and really doing something far more enjoyable.

God, but he missed Ianto.

"Numair, what the hell is this?" Jack stuck his head out from under the mage's cluttered desk and muttered, "It looks like the freaking Time Vortex in here."

Numair, leaning against the doorway, craned his neck over a pile of books to see. "Oh. That. That's waste disposal." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Jack gave him a disbelieving look. "_That's _waste disposal?"

"Yes. You may not want to stay under there for too long." The mage grimaced, looking a little anxious.

Jack rolled his eyes, but remained where he was under the wooden desk in the dust, with a light that pulsated disturbingly behind him. "Have you ever heard of a garbage bin?" he demanded.

"A what?"

Jack sighed and got up. Dusting off his knees, he walked over to the other side of the room, where he had been putting all the stuff deemed "waste" by Numair. He picked up a very small log that Numair had been using as a place to stack books, like a strange end table.

Actually, he'd been using it as something to trip over, but that was neither here nor there. "Drill a hole in it," he told the mage.

Numair blinked at him.

"Hollow it out," Jack explained, shaking the log a little for emphasis, "and then put your waste disposal inside it, instead of under your desk. That way your feet won't get disposed, and you have a place to put things."

"Oh," Numair replied, looking enlightened. He took the log and then crouched under his desk. Whispering a few words, he made the blue-and-purple luminous thing disappear from the wall, and reappear on the log. Numair lifted his face from under the desk, and then looked at the log, which was now glowing. "But I'll trip over it," he said plaintively.

Jack sighed, put upon. "We'll put it on something high up."

Numair frowned doubtfully. "Alright."

In all honesty, though, this was rather entertaining. Numair, whom Jack had forbidden to help, stood in a corner and cried, "Don't touch that!" or "You'll break it!" or "Oh, I've been wondering where that was," while Jack got his hands dirty. As far as jobs went, it was one of the most pleasant that Jack had in ages. Sometimes, Daine even came around and brought food. This whole manservant thing really had its perks, Jack thought wryly, kneeling underneath the desk again. He got food and board, good company, relative safety and no one was getting hurt. It had been a while since he'd been this amused on a harmless job, never mind that it was just cleaning.

"_Numair!_" Daine's voice bellowed suddenly from downstairs. He and Numair glanced at each other in surprise, and Numair held out a hand to Jack, who was still kneeling under the desk.

"Thanks," Jack muttered, taking the offered hand and coming to his feet. The mage smiled in response, and then bounded over to the stairwell.

"Is everything alright, sweet?" Numair called down as they reached the landing. Daine, standing at the bottom, looked grim. A raven perched on her fist, and she had a scroll of some kind in her hand. No paper, Jack thought, amused. Of course not.

"Bad news from Ouna," Daine called back up. "Something's happened on the road to Corus."

"Isn't she on her way back from Galla?" Numair asked, beckoning to Jack as they walked down the stairs. Jack gave him an inquisitive look, wondering who Ouna was, but followed anyway.

"Yes, near where I met you. Here, have a look." She passed Numair a scroll when he got close enough.

Numair frowned, reading the letter. Jack stepped down the last stair and walked over, trying and failing to read over his shoulder. The man was just too tall. "This is something we should go and see," Numair said softly, looking up. "We should tell the king as well. He won't be pleased."

"What is it?" asked Jack, trying to see without being obvious about it. They both glanced at him.

"It might be a new Immortal," Numair said after a pause, passing the scroll to him.

The scroll was parchment and yellowed, heavier than paper, and it curled around the edges. Jack smoothed it out, and a hastily sketched drawing at the bottom caught his eye before the short written message did. He glanced at it first and he had to stop himself from gaping in disbelief.

"Oh, no."

.

* * *

.

Jack's face had gone dead white, and his eyes widened in what looked like recognition. Daine blinked in surprise. "Have you seen anything like it?" she asked. Blackfeather, the raven on her fist, was a warm weight, and he shifted with Daine's discomfort.

It took Jack a moment to respond, as though he had to drag himself out of whatever world he'd gotten lost."Yes. I have," he said quietly, sounding angry or frightened or both. "That's a weevil."

"A what?" Daine replied, not expecting that answer. Weren't weevils insects that infected crops?

"A weevil," Jack growled, now glancing at the written part of the message. "It looks like a weevil. They live in sewers, eat detritus and things like that, but every so often one goes rogue and wants meat." He scowled, skimming Ouna's note.

"You said something about them before," Numair said carefully, and Daine looked at him sharply. He shook his head slowly, and Daine took it to mean that Jack hadn't told him anything helpful.

Jack gritted his teeth and passed the note back, but he didn't meet Daine's eye. "Yes. I used to work—" he paused, as if the words were painful to say. "I used to catch them," he finished flatly. "As part of my job."

"What did you do with them?" Daine asked, dread knotting somewhere in her stomach. She accepted the letter back uneasily and Blackfeather looked at her with sharp black eyes, ruffling his feathers. She patted his wing absently, and the raven was soothed.

"We used to kill them, at first," Jack sighed, and he looked at the raven, not Daine. "Then I was in charge, and we just detained them. Sometimes we'd put a sort of tracking device on them, see where they went. Sometimes we studied them." His face had gone carefully blank, clear of all emotion.

"We ought to inform the king," Numair said again, holding out a hand. Daine gave him the letter, and the mage skimmed it for the second time. "And then I believe we should go out and track this thing." He looked up, smiled and patted Jack's shoulder. "Since we have someone with experience."

For a moment, Jack looked ill. Then he shook himself, and nodded. "Yeah, we should probably get it off the streets. Or out of the woods, as the case may be." He straightened, all business now.

"That's settled then," Numair said, making to go back into his office. "I'll get some more parchment. Love, will you ask your friend to deliver it to the king?"

Daine nodded. "No problem." She stroked Blackfeather. Will you take another letter? Daine asked him silently.

Gladly, the raven replied, preening a wing feather proudly. Why does the wrong man stand like that?

Wrong man? Daine asked.

Him. The bird nodded at Jack, who had not moved. He had watched Numair go up the stairs, standing ridged.

"Jack?" Daine said tentatively, and his shoulders tensed further, before he turned to her and smiled charmingly.

"I don't suppose I'll get to finish Numair's office, then," Jack told her wryly.

"You'll finish eventually," Daine smiled back at him, surprised by this sudden humor. Then she frowned, stroking Blackfeather. Jack had relaxed noticeably, but something about his smile was still wrong. "Are you alright? You look sick."

"Fine," Jack replied easily, but his eyes were flat and expressionless. " If you don't mind I'd—like to go groom Red," he asked awkwardly, and almost ran out the door when Daine nodded.

Daine watched him go. Numair thudded back down the stairs, holding a new scroll and a quill. He came up to her, smiled, and swiftly scribbled a message to the king before handing it to Daine. She smiled back, blew on the wet ink to dry it and then gave it to Blackfeather.

To the castle in Corus, she instructed the bird. The man with the crown—our king. Blackfeather gave a raspy caw in agreement and took the letter, leaping from her shoulder to fly out the window. Daine turned to Numair, who was still smiling at her warmly. She smiled back, and leaned into his hand when he tucked a curl behind her ear. Then he frowned a little and looked around.

"Where'd Jack go?" The mage asked after a moment, as though just realizing that Jack had vanished. Daine laughed a little and shrugged.

"He said he was going to groom Red," she told him. "He looked upset at the mention of these weevils, Numair."

Numair frowned. "I think," he said slowly, tugging Daine's hand to lead her to a couch, "that this is something he'll tell us, in time."

"I doubt it," Daine replied, sitting next to him and leaning on his shoulder. "I feel like he's just going to leave after we get his coat back."

Numair shook his head, wrapping an arm around her. "Pain like that eventually spills over, especially if it's confronted. These weevils may be just the thing for our mysterious friend."

"You think he is a friend, then? He's been good to us, but it's only been a few days. He keeps saying what a terrible person he is." Daine's voice was sympathetic. She leaned her head on him, and Numair rested his chin on her hair thoughtfully.

"I think I have good instincts about this, sweet," he said after a moment. "I expect that our Captain Jack Harkness is going to be a good friend to have."


	8. Chapter 8

Leaning on Red's stall door in Daine and Numair's little barn, their Captain Jack Harkness was having trouble breathing.

Weevils. It had to be weevils. Familiar, routine weevils, a hallmark of Torchwood. Jack tried not to tremble at the thought of it. Over the last however-long-it-had-been, he'd worked very hard to forget.

"We used to catch them, you know," he told Red quietly as he gathered himself and picked up a curry comb. The horse pricked his ears forward as Jack opened the stall door and went inside. Red absolutely adored the sound of a human voice. Daine had said that he liked the conversation. "I used to enjoy it, more than I probably should have. The adrenalin was fun, it was a good rush, and I met—" Jack took a shuddering breath, laying a hand on the dappled gelding's warm neck. "Always weevils, at Torchwood. Always. A hundred years, and there were always weevils running around the sewers in Cardiff."

The horse nickered a little and watched him with bright eyes. Jack started to brush the comb in short, c-shaped strokes, as Daine had shown him the other day.

"They're all dead," he whispered miserably, staring without sight at the white and gray hairs of Red's coat. "They're all dead, except Gwen, and I couldn't stay. I just couldn't. I couldn't look her in the eye, not—not when she was having a child of her own. Not after Ianto_._"

He stopped brushing abruptly, realizing that this was not a safe outlet for his grief. "And Daine can talk to animals," he told the horse sharply. Red tossed his head and then placed his dark, soft nose over Jack's heart. "I'm getting sentimental in my old age," Jack muttered wryly, and continued to brush him in silence.

Red stood patiently in his stall, head craned around, the better to watch Jack with bright, brown eyes. Jack had never really had a horse, not even in the 1870's, when he was first stranded on Earth. He'd always rented them or borrowed them or stolen them, and then let them race off. He hadn't the time to learn to care for one.

He supposed Red wasn't really his. Daine had stolen him, after all. Nevertheless, this whole brushing thing was rather soothing. It was mindless in its own way, but oddly enough it eased a little of the loneliness, because Red was there. Red couldn't speak, except to Daine, but he watched Jack anyway, nickering sometimes when he scratched an itchy spot.

"You're a good natured fellow, you know," Jack told him, starting on his other side, "for a bandit's horse." He sighed. "I shouldn't get attached. I'm not going to be here forever," he warned, and Red flicked one ear forward and the other back. "But I suppose Daine'll take care of you when I'm gone. That's certainly something." The horse lipped his sleeve. Jack smiled weakly and left the stall, going up to a shelf where Daine always kept treats of some kind. Today he found a carrot, which he brought back and offered to him over the stall door. Red took it delicately and munched happily. Jack watched him chew with a small smile, leaning an elbow on the stall door.

The barn was quiet, save for Cloud and Spots rustling their hay and Red munching on his carrot. Then Jack heard the hinges on the front door squeak. Cloud whinnied.

"Hello, Daine," Jack greeted with a sigh, eyes fixed on Red.

"Hello," Daine returned, walking over. Red snorted, moving away from Jack and swung his big head around, huffing a greeting to Daine.

Daine smiled and walked over to pat Red's nose, although she looked at Jack. "You've been in here for hours, you know. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Jack hid a scowl. The whole point of being in here was so he did not have to talk to anyone. He nudged Red over and went back into the stall to attack the gelding's side with a hard-bristled brush. "I'm fine," he said, forcing his voice to at least sound slightly cheerful.

"Sure," Daine replied skeptically. She pulled out a currycomb of her own and walked into Cloud's stall across the way. "What can you tell me about weevils?"

Jack sighed a little. This was good, though; she was being very direct. He could do dry facts without crumbling, couldn't he? "Six feet high, teeth like a shark, rippled skin, rage like a wild animal. I don't know if you'll be able to talk to them," he added clinically. "We never really found out that much about them. They're scavengers, I think, and they respond to—" he paused. "Well, I don't really know what they respond to."

Daine turned around in Cloud's stall to look at Jack. "How d'you mean respond?" Her gray pony regarded him over her shoulder.

Oh, that was tricky. Jack rubbed at a spot on Red's hide thoughtfully. "Where I worked," he said slowly, tiptoeing around the twist his heart gave at the mention of Torchwood, "weird things tended to happen. Long story short, one of my friends became, as he called it, 'king of the weevils.'" He smiled wistfully.

"King of the Weevils?" Daine asked, and Jack could hear the capitals in her voice. He held back a sad chuckle.

"Don't know why, though," Jack told her wryly. It was a half-truth. He knew it had to do with Death and the glove they'd used to bring Owen back to life, although he didn't know why or how. "But they all kind of bowed and moaned when he got too close."

"That is weird," Daine said, brushing Cloud's neck thoughtfully. "Did he have wild magic?"

"No," Jack told her, regarding her over Red's back. Best to keep it simple. "They communicated through a low-level telepathic field," he continued, taking the subject away from Owen. Keep in clinical. "They were all connected, so they knew when one of their own was in trouble. They were nasty when they went rogue, or when they were scared. Would go straight to the jugular," he said, tapping his neck. "We used to subdue them with a spray and a tranquilizer, but I don't think we have either here."

"Could you make one?" Daine asked, and Jack shook his head, before realizing belatedly that Daine was busily brushing Cloud and couldn't see him.

"I haven't got the tools," he said. "Or the parts. Or anything, really. Sorry. We'll have to do it the old fashioned way, and see if you'll be—" and here hysterical laughter bubbled in his chest, because, god, Owen would've loved this—"queen of the weevils."

Not that Owen would've stood a chance any more than Jack did. Daine was obviously smitten with her Numair, and vice-versa, for that matter. He would've tried to use it, though, the bastard. Daine was quite beautiful.

God, he did miss Owen Harper, even if the man had been a pain in the ass. Poor, wounded Owen, who was dead and didn't stay that way, and hated every second of it. Of course, he'd found a way to die in the end. Jack sighed.

… and Toshiko, brilliant, technical minded Tosh, who'd loved him, even though Owen had hardly acknowledged her existence. And Ianto, of course, and even Susie, who'd gone mad.

Only Gwen left, now, and Jack missed her too, so much.

Never mind Owen, it was Torchwood he missed: mad, bloody Torchwood. Running around after aliens, removing people's memories, being surrounded by people he honestly loved, saving the world, the rush of it. He'd enjoyed it too much, in the end, Jack thought bitterly, scratching viciously at another piece of dirt stuck in Red's hair.

"I don't really like the idea," Daine admitted, jolting Jack out of his melancholy thoughts. "I'd rather be friends with the People, not their queen. That's Thayet's job," she joked.

"Thayet?" Jack asked, backtracking in their conversation, momentarily lost. He looked up from Red's hide and saw Daine grinning at him over Cloud's back.

"The Queen of Tortall," she explained cheerfully.

.

* * *

.

He is so sad, Red told Daine as she spoke to Jack.

"Ah," Jack responded, and then added jokingly, "no aspirations to becoming Queen yourself?"

"Mithros, no," Daine laughed. "Have you ever seen the amount of paperwork that a king and queen have to handle? I'll stay the Wildmage, thanks." Cloud snorted in amusement.

That would never work, the mare said. I cannot climb stairs, and the Horse Lords know you'd never escape from the paperwork without me.

Daine grinned and smacked her pony's neck playfully.

Jack quirked a reluctant half-smile. This one seemed real, not like the charming grins he'd been flashing all morning. "The days of paperwork. I remember those. One of the nice parts of traveling is that there isn't any paperwork. At least, not for me."

"Lucky you," Daine told him, leaning an arm on Cloud's back. The pony huffed and gave up on the brushing, returning to munch on her hay. Daine was only here on the pretext of brushing Cloud, and she knew it. "After the Immortals War, I feel like that was all I ever did." You didn't like him before, Daine added to Red silently.

Fickle, Cloud scoffed, chewing on her oats. Daine rolled her eyes.

Red ignored the pony and thought for a moment, lipping Jack's sleeve contemplatively. Jack playfully pushed his nose away. He is kind, the horse said quietly. He smells of death, but I think that is because everyone around him dies. He misses his friends.

You've been spending too much time around me, Daine told him regretfully. Animals who spent too long with her tended to develop a more human outlook on life. Red, it seemed, was particularly susceptible; after three days, he had learned to look beyond the way a person smelled. Daine would have to keep her distance—she would do Red no favors, changing the way he thought like that.

"Immortals War?" Jack had asked. His voice had turned oddly wary. Daine sighed and returned to speaking to the two-legger, confused at his sudden stiffness.

"A few years ago," she replied, "the Barrier between our realms and the Realms of the Gods, where the Immortals were trapped, fell. You must remember; it happened all over the world. Creatures like the spidren that almost killed you came through. We call them Immortal here, because they won't ever die unless someone takes the effort to kill them."

"I see," Jack muttered, relaxing. "So you think that weevils might be a kind of Immortal?"

Daine shrugged. "Are they?"

"Not that I know of," Jack said. "We didn't have creatures like that where I worked. Are there many more of them?" He walked away from Red's side and came over to lean on the stall door. Red huffed a little and rested his nose on Jack's shoulder. The man rolled his shoulder playfully, and Red lipped his sleeve.

"Oh, yes," Daine replied, a little perplexed. She'd thought that the Immortals were worldwide; perhaps they were not. Where could Jack have come from, if he'd never heard of them before? "Most of them are mythical, some of them the myths couldn't even describe. Some of them are nice, like unicorns, griffins, or basilisks, but a lot of them are like the spidrens. There are Stormwings, which are people crossed with metal birds – they're like vultures, they feed off of fear and wars. There are flesh-eating unicorns and centaurs, as well as nice ones; Coldfangs, which guard things and hunt thieves… there are a lot," she smiled a little. Jack's eyebrows had risen to his hairline.

"I think you guys have it worse than we did," he said. Daine laughed. "You have unicorns?" he asked wistfully, after a pause. "Really?"

"Sure," Daine shrugged. "They're shy, though – you don't see them often."

"I'm sure you see the flesh eating ones more than you'd like," Jack remarked, looking thoughtfully at Red and scratching his cheek.

"Yes," Daine agreed ruefully. "But it's not all bad. Wait till you meet Kit." She smiled, both proud and wistful; she missed her charge.

"Kit?" Jack looked intrigued, and Daine grinned proudly.

"Kitten," she elaborated, and Cloud snorted. "Well, her real name's Skysong – I'm her guardian. She's a dragon."

"_You_ have a dragon?" Jack gaped.

"She's just a baby," Daine explained. "Her ma was killed by Carthaki raiders a week after she was born. I took her in, at her ma's request. She's with Tkaa now – he's a basilisk, and he was going to teach her some spells, and give me'n Numair some time off. She's a handful," Daine added affectionately.

"I can imagine," Jack said wonderingly. "A baby dragon. This place is _amazing_." He smiled then, a little wistfully. "I had a pterodactyl, once," he confided.

"_Seriously?_" Daine demanded delightedly. Cloud rolled her eyes, but Daine ignored her. "There were a bunch of dead ones, in Carthak, but I couldn't reach them. Where on earth did you find it?"

Jack looked at her oddly. "Couldn't reach them?"

"Daine," Numair announced, walking into the barn and causing Jack to jump in surprise, "once brought back an entire army of dinosaurs in order to destroy the emperor of Carthak." Daine looked embarrassed.

An odd look had come into Jack's eye. He stood up from the defensive crouch he'd fallen into when Numair had startled him. "Brought back?"

"The gods were angry," Daine explained. "The Graveyard Hag had given me the power to bring dead things back to life. I thought they'd killed Numair. _I _was angry," she added sheepishly, and grinned at the approaching mage who smiled back.

"So you brought back a bunch of dinosaurs," Jack murmured. "Remind me never to annoy you. How—how did—?"

"Numair had a simu-thing, so they killed it instead of him," Daine said, misunderstanding the question. She opened the door to Cloud's stall and stepped out to kiss Numair's cheek in greeting. Jack blinked.

"A simulacrum. And the Hag took the power away from Daine, afterward," Numair explained, correctly interpreting the confusion on Jack's face. Jack nodded.

"It was fair creepy, really. But how did you get one?" Daine put in, looping an arm through Numair's.

"One what?" the mage asked, having come too late into the conversation to know what had started it.

"He said he had a pter—pter—"

"Pterodactyl," Jack supplied. He gave Red's cheek one last pat and opened the stall door to get out.

"Those flying lizards," Daine elaborated enthusiastically. "Like Lindhall's Bonedancer. How did you get one?"

"It's kind of a long story," Jack sighed. "I needed a guard dog, and Myfanwy was the best. Seriously, she'd eat anything with barbecue sauce on it." He looked melancholy.

"Did she die?" Daine asked, voice gentle.

"In an explosion," Jack whispered miserably, looking as though he regretted saying anything.

"I'm sorry," Numair murmured. Jack shook himself, as if dispelling grief like water.

"But you were telling me about your dragon," he said with forced cheer. "You said she was with a _basilisk_? Don't they petrify people with their eyes?"

"They can turn things to stone," Numair agreed, letting Jack change the subject. "But only with a spell. Tkaa's a friend. Why would they use their eyes?"

"There were these books where I'm from," Jack grinned, better humored now that the subject had changed. "There was a basilisk in one. It was a giant snake?"

"A giant _snake?_" Daine asked incredulously. "He looks more like a lizard, really."

"Might I suggest moving this conversation to the dining room?" Numair interrupted plaintively. "It's dinner time, I'm hungry, and it's Daine's turn to cook."

The statement seemed to startle a chuckle out of Jack. "All is revealed! That's why you came looking for us."

Numair shrugged, amused. "Also I don't like you sneaking around with my Daine," he said loftily and began to lead the way out of the barn.

Daine rolled her eyes and Jack smiled again. "Run away with me," he implored as they followed. "I can show you the stars."

"In your dreams," Daine remarked, reaching out to take the mage's hand. "And Numair knows the stars better than anyone I know." Numair smiled warmly down at her.

"There now, that's settled," Jack told the mage. He turned back to Daine. "Although there's no way he knows the stars better than I do. That's just impossible."

Numair raised an eyebrow at the challenge and Daine rolled her eyes. "Would you care to bet on that, Captain Harkness?"

"It wouldn't be fair," Jack said, holding open the barn door. "I may not know your constellations, but I do know more about the individual stars than you can imagine. Can I cook dinner? It's been a while."

Daine nodded, relieved. She rather disliked cooking, although she was capable of doing it. She and Numair alternated meals to be fair, because neither of them really enjoyed it. "By all means. How do you know about the individual stars?"

"I'm a traveler, aren't I?" Jack said. "I've been all over. Everyone has different mythology."

"And you must know a great deal of it." Numair sounded fascinated. "Shall we forgo a formal dinner and eat out on the balcony? I can tell you some of our mythology, Jack, if you tell us some of the things you've learned."

Daine grinned. "I like that idea! What d'you say, Jack?"

"Sounds good," Jack agreed.


	9. Chapter 9

These people. They just got under his skin. He just liked them. Jack's humor had returned after his conversation with Daine. Mentioning poor Myfanwy had somehow eased him, just a little. He felt himself able to smile, willing to laugh. Willing to _cook_, for god's sake. Since when did he want to cook? He hadn't even cooked at Torchwood.

Dinner was rather clumsy on his part, as he didn't know where they kept anything, and he'd had to go downstairs and actually pluck some vegetables, but it was worth it in the end. He made them a close approximation to pizza with some of their leftover bread dough, claiming that he had lived off this kind of thing for years, which was true. It was a surprisingly big hit, even if it turned out to be little more than slightly overcooked bread with chunks of tomatoes and cheese on top, and as they sat under the stars, Daine curled up against Numair and demanded a story.

Jack looked up and, with a bit of squinting and approximating, found a star he thought might've been Scharta, and spun them a yarn he'd heard in the training barracks in the Time Agency, long ago. In return, Numair pointed out constellation after constellation, telling tales about gods and goddesses.

Jack did a few calculations in his head and managed to find Orion's Belt, although from this angle it formed a tiny cluster in the east. In all honesty, only one of the stars was from the Belt, as visible on Earth. The other two were from the arrow and the left foot, respectively, but it was still pretty lucky that he could find three of them. He told the story about Orion and the Scorpion, and the nebula that birthed baby stars, spinning that like a myth.

Jack had not felt this peaceful in a very, very long time. It was a mistake and he knew it; getting close to people was fatal. Even so, it was by far the most enjoyable night he'd spent since he'd left Earth.

.

* * *

.

The next day, Daine ushered Numair and Jack out of the house in order to get his coat, and stood over Jack's shoulder as he tacked Red.

"I do actually know how to put a saddle on a horse," Jack complained with a good natured smile as he picked up Red's bridle and placed it against the gelding's lips. Red sighed gustily and took the bit.

"Yes, but apparently not a bridle," Daine said wryly, tapping Jack's arm. "You don't need to stick your finger in his mouth; Red's a good boy, he'll take the bit."

"Oh." Jack looked sheepish. He patted the horse's neck. "Sorry."

He does not know what he is doing, Red agreed, more amused than annoyed. Tell him that his finger tastes bad, and that I shall bite him if he does it again.

You won't really bite him, Daine told the horse wryly, grinning.

No. But it is good if he thinks so. Red regarded her with a twinkling brown eye.

Daine laughed. "He says he'll bite you if you stick your finger in his mouth again, because it tastes bad," she told Jack. He smiled.

"Tell him if he bites me, I'll have him whipped," Jack joked, lifting a saddle from the rack.

Daine dutifully translated, making sure to add that Jack was teasing. In reply, Red leaned over and very gently bit Jack's sleeve. Saddle slung on his arm, Jack reached up and yanked playfully on the horse's mane.

"Mithros, you're both like little kids!" Daine grinned. She helped Jack with the saddle, and then got onto her own mount.

He is a bad influence, Cloud commented as Daine hopped nimbly onto the pony's back, without a saddle of her own.

You like him, Daine accused as she took the reins.

Cloud snorted but did not reply.

They rode out in good spirits, although it was clear that Jack did not quite remember how to ride a horse. Last time, Red had been excited to be free of the bandits and had not been bothered by Jack's poor seat, and Daine had been more concerned with the horse's health than anything else. Now, Red complained with good humor to Daine about Jack's seat and posture, and Daine called out to him, trotting round and round them on Cloud.

Numair smiled wryly. "She'll be correcting you the whole way there," he warned.

"Will she, now?" Jack seemed to remember more than he let on, because his right foot slid back and urged Red to canter from a walk. Red, despite his complaining, was up for the run and leaped forward with a delighted snort. Numair groaned and Daine laughed as they raced until the horses tired, and then walked for the rest of the way.

Jack seemed just as impressed with the little town as he was before, beaming over the stalls and the mongers hawking their wares. Now that his horse was in good health, they rode to the tailor.

He looked profoundly relieved when Mistress Carra bustled out, holding his coat. Daine was impressed- it looked new, and the hole in the back had disappeared without a trace.

"It gave me some trouble, this did," the old woman fussed, tugging Jack onto her pedestal and then placing the coat onto his shoulders. "Oddest wool I've _ever _come across. Right then, Captain Harkness, this here's got a fire retardant and protection against damage, as well as an anti-theft. The amount of magic I poured into it, it should last damn near a hundred years. It's your grandchildren's problem, now."

For a moment, Jack's shoulders tensed visibly. Daine and Numair exchanged a puzzled glance, but by the time they looked back at him, he stood as though at perfect ease.

"Thank you, Mistress Carra, you're a doll," Jack replied. He rolled his shoulders beneath the coat, testing the fabric.

"I'm a _what_?"

"A darling, a marvelous woman," Jack smiled charmingly at her, and she patted his cheek. The smile, Daine noticed, did not reach his eyes, although Mistress Carra seemed delighted.

"Such a nice boy! No idea where you found this one," she shot to Daine and Numair. Daine held back a snicker and glanced, amused, at Numair, who glared. Mistress Carra was notorious for being unpleasant to her customers. How Jack had charmed her was completely beyond Daine. "Mithros knows, so few nice boys these days." She smoothed the coat over Jack's shoulders.

Jack reacted suddenly and violently. The motion made him cringe, and he practically fell over himself trying to get away. Daine started, making an alarmed sound when Jack threatened to trip, although he caught himself. Mistress Carra frowned, hand still outstretched to the place where Jack had been.

Jack laughed nervously from the other side of the pedestal. "Sorry," he said, looking embarrassed. "My old dead ma used to do that."

Mistress Carra forgave him instantly, crooning over him like a lost child, but Daine and Numair shared another glance. That lie was a good one, but they both saw it. Someone had touched him like that once, but it was not his old dead ma.

"We ought to get going, Jack," Numair put in after a moment. Mistress Carra scowled from where she'd been cooing over Jack. "You used up all the tomatoes last night. We need to get more."

"That raven should be coming back from Corus today as well," Daine added, gesturing to the door.

"Alright," the Jack said. He winked flirtatiously at Mistress Carra as he walked around the pedestal. "I'll be seeing you," he added, and the old woman giggled.

"Oh, hold on, Captain Harkness," she fluttered, rushing to the back. "I have something for you!"

Daine and Numair raised their eyebrows at Jack, who shrugged. The three of them stood a little awkwardly at the door. Mistress Carra's voice floated from the back room.

"You said you didn't need any more clothing, but you gave me enough to pay my rent for nearly four years!" She dashed back to the front, carrying a bundle. "Here. Some tunics and breeches. You can't walk around in your odd clothes all the time, although," she giggled like a little girl, "you do look quite dashing. Here." She thrust the bundle into Jack's confused arms.

"Thanks?" Jack said, perplexed.

"Now off you go! If you ever need any repairs, do come back!" She waved him away. With a final glare at Numair, she bustled to the back of her shop.

"Well," Daine said as they left and began to untie their horses. "That was fair strange. I've never seen her so happy."

Numair looked amused. "She's hated me for as long as I can remember," he added. He tugged at the slipknot that bound Spots to the post, but the knot did not come undone. He frowned, put out. He'd tied the knot incorrectly, of course, Daine thought with a small grin. She moved to help but he waved her off.

"Well," Jack was saying as he juggled the bundle in his arms with Red's reins. "I suppose I will blend in better this way. But they these clothes don't go with the coat at all."

"The coat! Right," Numair murmured, almost to himself. He'd finally gotten the knot undone, but before he mounted he looked back at Jack. "Would you like me to strengthen those spells for you?"

Already sitting astride Red, Jack's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Yes, please!" he replied. "Especially the damage-proofing one, if you could."

"You want it to last _more_ than a hundred years?" Daine joked. Mistress Carra had always had a gift for overstatement. Jack's response surprised her, though, because it was utterly sincere.

"Yes. Yes, please, as long as you can make it last," he said earnestly. "I—I want this coat to outlive me," he added, tone oddly wistful.

"That'll take a bit of power," Numair hummed. He eyed Jack's coat, slung carefully over the man's arm. "I'll do it when we return to the tower, alright? I can key it to you, if you want – so it'll decay when you die."

Jack paled. "Better not," he muttered darkly.

"He's right," Daine told Numair firmly. "That's a big spell, Numair. You'll drain yourself." Jack nodded a little to himself, as though expecting this reasoning.

"We'll see when we get back," Numair shrugged. Daine frowned at him unhappily. If Numair thought it was some sort of ridiculous challenge—

What is wrong? Red asked as they rode the horses back to the market.

The stork-man is being stupid, what do you think? Cloud scoffed back.

He wants to put his magic into Jack's coat, to make it last all of Jack's life, Daine explained. I'm worried that he'll exhaust himself.

He won't just exhaust himself, Cloud said darkly. He'll kill himself. Jack is immortal.

What? Daine pulled Cloud to a halt and stared down at her pony. "That's impossible," she said aloud. Numair and Jack stopped.

"Sweets?" Numair asked. Jack looked back at her, one eyebrow raised in a question.

"Cloud's being impossible, that's all," Daine told them, nudging Cloud to walk. The pony snorted.

I am not, she insisted. Daine. _He came back to life. _I could smell it.

Death surrounds him, Red put in uncomfortably. He chewed on his bit and watched Daine with big, sad brown eyes. The stork-man should not risk it.

"What are you arguing about?" Jack asked from his back.

"Nothing," Daine said quickly. You've made him suspicious, she scolded, and Red hung his head.

Tell him I'm sorry, the big gray horse sighed. Jack should not be sadder than he already is.

"Red says you shouldn't be sad," Daine told Jack dryly. "I don't know what that means, but that's what he says."

Jack looked startled. He blinked down at the large gray horse, who turned his head back to look at him out of one eye. "Thank him for his concern, but I'm fine." He patted the gelding's neck.

He's lying, Red murmured, sighing at the touch.

He always lies, Spots put in.

Daine shrugged at Jack, who looked curious, although Daine did not answer the question on his face. He did not need to know what the horses were saying, not yet, anyway.

This will end badly, Cloud told Daine darkly. I just know it will.

.

* * *

.

They returned to Numair's tower to find a goshawk sitting on the roof. It glided down and landed on Daine's outstretched arm, thrusting its leg forward. Numair smiled a little wryly.

"I guess the king got our message," he commented as Daine untied the missive.

"He says," she murmured as she skimmed the letter, "That he apologizes—of course—and that he _would_ like us to go and investigate. It isn't like Ouna to be so afraid, and Thayet trusts her judgment. He also says that we're observing only, and he would prefer if we didn't interfere in any way with Gallan politics." Her voice had turned sarcastic.

"No destroying palaces," Jack joked. Numair chuckled a little and gently pulled on a lock of Daine's hair, curling it around his finger. Daine swatted at him playfully, and continued to read.

"He's also interested in you, Jack," she added, capturing Numair's hand in her own and keeping it. "He wants us to bring 'our experienced friend' back up to Corus as soon as we've found one of those weevil creatures. He probably wants us to give him a briefing," she continued, and made a face. Numair laughed outright and rubbed her hand with his thumb.

"In front of all the stuffy nobles?" he teased. He grinned at the look of horror on Daine's face.

"Probably," she scowled and handed him the letter. Numair skimmed it, not releasing Daine's hand.

"I'm not thrilled with the idea, myself," Jack said, shifting his weight. Numair glanced up at him. "I would rather not get involved with your government, if it's all the same to you." His voice had turned dark. Numair wondered at his skittishness.

"You have nothing to worry about," Numair reassured him. "Jon's completely unorthodox. Daine and I will speak for you, and you can leave whenever you wish."

"I've—had a few bad experiences with governments," Jack told them firmly.

"Listen," Numair soothed, "Pirate's Swoop is a short detour, but it's on the way to the border. We'll stop there to get more supplies, and you can meet George, if he's home. He'll vouch for His Majesty."

"This is the thief," Jack murmured. Numair nodded. "You want me to trust a liar?"

"George is very trustworthy, and if Cloud is to be believed, you're a liar yourself," Daine said frankly. Numair looked at her, startled at her forthrightness and afraid that she might scare Jack off. The other man merely blinked at her, surprised, and then let out a gusty sigh.

"I suppose she has a point, at that," he said ruefully.

"Nothing bad will happen," Daine soothed. "I trust the king with my life."

"Well, you would," Jack told her dryly, and Numair inclined his head.

"This is true. Anyway, we'll set out tomorrow." His stomach rumbled. "It's still Daine's turn to cook," Numair added, and Jack broke the tension with a chuckle.


	10. Chapter 10

Jack smiled to himself as he walked up to his room that night, coat folded carefully over his arm. It was past midnight, and the stars twinkled cheerfully at him through the long, thin windows that lined the stairwell.

Daine and Numair were such pleasant company, really. They had eaten supper, some sort of pasta dish, on the balcony once again, relating more stories about stars. Numair had taken Jack's coat, and before Jack's eyes he had strengthened Mistress Carra's spells. Jack, after seeing Daine with Red and other animals, had come to accept the strange laws of physics here. Even still, seeing Numair infuse the much-loved garment with a strange, glittering dark power had been fascinating.

Reaching the next landing, Jack walked through the doorway and then turned around, pushing the door to his room with his shoulder, still ruminating on the questions he'd asked Numair about the mage's power.

A strong, musky smell assaulted his nose as the door opened, and Jack looked up in surprise.

"Oh," he said, scowling in dismay at the creature on his bed. "It's you."

_-Of course it's me,— _the badger growled, sitting up straighter on the duvet. _–Have you thought over our bargain?— _It was large as ever, its shaggy fur surprisingly sleek, the white stripes on its face and sides shocking in their purity. In the moonlight that peeked from the window, the animal truly did look like a god.

Jack sighed. In all honesty, he'd forgotten. This place was so pleasant, and he'd been enjoying himself. His visit to Tortall almost seemed like a holiday. He paused in the doorway, unsure for a moment and then straightened his shoulders. Jack strode confidently over to the small armoire that sat on the other side of the room to hang up his coat. "Yes, I have," he lied, his back to the badger as he thought furiously.

_-Well?— _The creature behind him sounded impatient.

"What can you tell me about King Jonathan?" Jack asked. He turned to walk to the bed and sit beside the badger. "How would he respond, if he knew what I am?"

The animal regarded him with black, intelligent eyes. It cocked its head, as if listening, and then turned back to Jack. _–I cannot speak for two leggers,—_ it said slowly. _–And the Great Gods cannot say truly either; we do not control mortals. But I am told that the Goddess believes that he would react with surprise, but he would be unlikely to harm you. If you agree to our bargain, then we will make sure that he is on your side.—_

"And when this bargain is fulfilled," Jack continued, "he will let me leave. That is not negotiable."

_-If that is what you wish,— _the badger replied offhandedly. _–Do you accept?—_

"I will not be detained in any way," Jack told it. "If I am imprisoned, the deal is off." He made a slicing gesture with his hand for emphasis.

_-We cannot control all mortals,- _the badger reiterated.

"If I am imprisoned by the King of Tortall's desire, or his order," Jack specified. "If he, or his people, try to experiment on me, or hurt me or kill me without my permission, then the deal is off." Jack was determined; he was not going to be taken captive or otherwise tortured or enslaved by any government again, not if he could help it_. _

The badger nodded, agreeing to his terms. _–We will do what we can for your freedom,— _it said. _–The King and the Queen will listen to us. Do we have a deal, Captain Jack Harkness?—_

"You will owe me," Jack told the badger firmly, thinking fast, "Ten favors. From the gods. Helping along the way doesn't count; I have to specify." Infinite favors would probably end badly, and ten seemed like a nice, round number. Besides, he could always ask for more.

_-Very well. Have we a deal?—_ The badger was clearly getting impatient. It shifted its weight and curled its upper lip, watching Jack with disdain.

Jack smiled, slow and unpleasant, in response. "We do indeed," he said.

The impatient lip went down, covering the badger's teeth. _-Very good!— _It nodded. _–There are things you must know.—_

"Go on then," Jack said, lying down on the comfortable bed, hands folded on his chest and head turned towards the animal. "What have you got?" His posture was relaxed and friendly, but his shoulders were tense and his eyes sharp, calculating.

_-I fear that we do not know,- _the badger growled softly. _–The gods have power only over this planet. We have a Guardian at the Gates, who allows nothing through. He was stolen away three human months ago, and since then, things have been… uncomfortable. We can sense things coming toward us, but without the Guardian, we do not know what they are, or if they will even land here. We are afraid, and we want insurance.— _It looked at Jack long and hard. _-You cannot die. You will be our insurance.—_

"I'm not staying here forever!" Jack spluttered, arching his neck away from the badger indignantly.

The badger snorted, but it advanced onto Jack's retreat until it was leaning down, almost nose to nose with him. _-Then fix it, Captain Jack Harkness. Find our Guardian, lock the Gate; do _something_. We are powerless, and the gods do not like such a feeling.—_

Jack scowled, not flinching from its unblinking, black eyes. "What about the weevils?"

_-Disgusting creatures!—_the badger cried vehemently, jerking away, much to Jack's relief. It paced restlessly twice lengthwise across the bed. _–They came shortly after you did. We have no control over them and we do not know what they are.— _

"Right, okay," Jack said, sitting up. "So, basically, you want me to guard you against the alien hoard."

It paused halfway across the bed and turned back to look at Jack quizzically. _-You could put it that way, yes.— _

"You want me to recreate Torchwood," Jack muttered miserably, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "What if I trained humans to do it?"

_-No.-_ The badger stared at him, flat and bottomless. _–Mortals must not have powers that gods lack.—_

"Yeah, okay, I can see why you would think that," Jack scowled and rubbed his face. "But I can't stay here forever."

The badger walked back over to look up at Jack. _-Then fix our Gate, find our Guardian.—_

"I can't do that unless you show me where the Gate is, or give me a way to track your Guardian," Jack said, exasperated. "Is it a god, a mortal? Does it have a DNA signature that I can trace? It's not like I can look for it on any CCTVs, since this place is in the backwaters of nowhere," he ended with a growl.

_-I do not know, - _the badger replied simply. _–These things are utterly beyond me. If you need help, ask for it; we now owe you ten favors, of course. We may intervene along the way. The mage will help you – Numair, the stork-man. Even Daine will know more than she seems; they are both sharp. I do not know, Jack Harkness. I only know that this must be fixed.- _

"Yeah, alright," Jack muttered reluctantly, already regretting the commitment. He looked away from the animal.

_-The Guardian of the Gates is male,-_ the badger continued, ignoring Jack's discomfort, —_he has the tail of a rat, the fur of a wolf, the horns of a goat and the shape of a man. He should be twice your size. It is said that he holds a golden net, in which he snares all who try to pass him, and a great spear, with which he pushes outsiders away from the entrance. That is all I know; I have never met him.—_

"Myths and legends," Jack muttered sourly. "Great. Can I go to sleep now? We're heading for Pirate's Swoop in the morning."

The badger huffed at the casual dismissal. _-Very well. Gainel will guard your dreams, Captain. Farewell.— _There was a burst of silver light that made Jack blink and squint, and the badger was gone.

Jack wiped his eyes, which had started streaming defensively from the dramatic light of the badger's exit. Showy entrances and exits must be a function of being a god. This place was _weird_. Jack doubted that he _wanted_ some dream god peeking into his brain. There was too much that he wanted to forget there.

Then again, better to have a dream god's favor than his disfavor. That could be unpleasant. Jack sighed and prepared himself for bed.

That night he dreamed, and in his dreams, Ianto smiled at him.


	11. Chapter 11

Daine woke that morning to a shout, which echoed through the tower and into their room. Numair murmured a protest against her hair and tugged her closer to his chest, trying to burrow farther under the covers.

There was another shout and Jack's voice, hurting and furious, carried through the walls.

"Don't you _EVER _use that man's face again, ARE WE CLEAR? And NO, that is NOT a favor, that has nothing to do with anything but I do not care, _YOU DO NOT TOUCH MY MEMORIES!_ _Especially _Ianto! Ianto is off-limits! If I dream of Ianto, I want them to be _my_ damned dreams, not some fantasy induced by _MEDDLING GODS!"_

_Meddling gods? _

Numair's eyes had opened, and he was looking at Daine in surprise. She blinked back at him, equally bemused, before turning to look at the door to their room, as though she could see Jack though it. Now fully awake, Numair nodded derisively to himself before pulling back the covers. Daine hummed in wordless agreement and got up with him, dressing quickly. They hurried down the hall to Jack's room, where Daine could hear him pacing within. She knocked on the door.

"Jack? Are you alright?" she asked at the keyhole.

Jack cursed loudly enough for them to hear him. The door wrenched open violently; Jack was standing in the threshold, clad only in his new breeches. His face was red and his blue eyes furious, his breath coming with harsh, heartbroken gasps. "_What?_" he snapped.

"You were shouting," Daine told him, taken aback by the emotion on the man's face. "Are you okay?"

"I was s—" Jack repeated, disbelieving, and then roared,_ "Of course I was shouting!"_

Startled at his tone, Daine made to take a step back but Numair, standing behind her, blocked the way. "What happened, Jack?" he asked, laying a protective hand on Daine's shoulder.

"You tell your gods to stay out of my head," Jack seethed, storming away to snatch up his new tunic. He tugged it over his head and then swung his coat ridiculously around it.

"Gods?" Daine asked, baffled. "Why are the gods in your head?"

"Gainel, the badger said," Jack snarled, his back to them.

"_You've _been talking to the badger?" Daine spluttered. When did that happen? The hand on her shoulder tightened and she looked up at Numair, who winced down at her.

"I forgot to tell you that, didn't I?" he said sheepishly.

Daine glared at him. "He told you—"

"I struck a _bargain_ with your damned badger," Jack spat, hugging his coat tightly around himself as though for protection. "And apparently this gives your dream god the right to frolic in my head and twist my memories for the night."

"Twist your— No, Jack, that's not—" Numair started, but flaming blue eyes locked with his, and the mage was glared silent.

"If this dream god of yours thinks that it might _soothe me _to bring dead people back for the night, _he is very much mistaken!_" Jack snarled, but his face was red and blotchy, his eyes glassy. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Daine approached him as she might approach a frightened animal. She tried to lay a hand on his arm but Jack skittered back, away from the comfort, looking lost. "Jack. You're misunderstanding. Who was Ianto?"

He made a harsh sobbing sound at the name, and it took him a moment to gather himself. "How," he asked very slowly, "am I misunderstanding?"

"Gainel can control dreams in the Divine Realms," Numair said, low and soothing. "He can only _direct _them in the mortal realms. If you dreamed of your friends, then it was your dream, and Gainel only focused it."

Jack swallowed. "I don't care," he choked. "I want these gods out of my head. There are too many things there that I don't want to think about." His blue eyes snapped back to them, guarded and wary.

"Of course," Daine murmured compassionately. She kept herself still even though she wanted to go over to the clearly grieving man. There was a moment of silence.

Jack rubbed a hand across his eyes and took a deep breath. "Aren't we going to Pirate's Swoop today?" His voice was weak.

"Jack," Daine scolded. Jack shook his head violently, wiping his eyes.

Daine walked over again this time he let her touch him. She rubbed his arm, and in return she let him change the subject. Numair walked over as well and put a hand supportively on his other shoulder. The man tensed, clearly nervous about having Daine at one side of him and Numair on the other. She hadn't realized that he was this skittish. "Come on, then," Daine said and tugged his arm gently. "Let's get some food in you. Numair, I think we should stay an extra day."

Jack, starting to follow but moving like a marionette, hesitated and shook his head again. "Don't be ridiculous," he whispered, eyes lowered to Daine's feet. "There're w-weevils running about. We haven't got time for me to fall apart."

"Of course we do," Numair reassured him. "One extra day isn't going to hurt."

"With weevils around? Of course it does. They'll kill, and they'll do it quickly if they're not controlled." Jack visibly collected himself. "Besides, I made a bargain with your badger, and I'm not about to back out now."

Daine and Numair shepherded their friend down to the dining room, where Numair prepared breakfast. By the time it was ready, Jack was dry-eyed and composed.

"What kind of bargain?" Daine asked him then, once he seemed ready to speak. She was bursting with curiosity over this Ianto of his, but she could also see, quite clearly, that if she asked the wrong question Jack would run away so fast that they would not be able to tell which direction he went through the dust of his departure.

Jack sighed and pinched his nose wearily. "It said you two would help, so I suppose I'll tell you."

"Of course we'll help," Numair told him, placing a plate of fruit in the table.

Jack gave him a disbelieving look. "You've known me for all of a week," he said, "And already you're agreeing to help me, even not knowing what I'm doing?"

"I trust the badger," Daine said, "And you're on the road to earning my trust, yourself."

Jack looked away, shoulders tense.

Numair nodded in agreement, mouth full. Swallowing, he asked, "What is the bargain?"

"Apparently their Guardian of the Gates has gone missing," Jack replied reluctantly. "Have you ever heard of him?"

Daine and Numair exchanged a glance. "No," Numair murmured, sounding intrigued. "I studied in Carthak for _years._ Never heard of such a thing. Then again, some of the Immortals that came through when the Barrier fell surprised me, so I suppose I can't know everything." He leaned forward and Daine hid a smile. Numair loved to learn new things. "Tell us, then."

Jack took a deep breath, as though preparing himself. "It's a bit of a story."

"We're going to be on the road for a while, if we leave today," Daine assured him. "We'll have time."

"Your funeral," Jack muttered under his breath, before taking a bite of breakfast.

.

* * *

.

Where were his filters?

Captain Jack Harkness, you are a _wreck, _Jack scolded himself furiously as they finished breakfast and began to pack for the journey. Daine and Numair planned to stop in town, and then head down to Pirate's Swoop before going towards Galla.

Jack had not meant to fall apart over Ianto. He'd already fallen apart. He'd taken his memories of Ianto, and hidden them behind a door in his mind: out of sight because they hurt, but never forgotten. Those dreams had dredged them up, and Jack woke reaching for his lover, to find the bed empty, and Ianto dead.

It was a suicide mission, he'd remembered painfully, guiltily, lying there in bed with one arm outstretched, hand grasping for someone who wasn't there. That bastard alien had locked down the building, and killed everyone inside with an airborn virus. Jack, of course, had come back to life. Ianto didn't.

Jack took a deep breath, and put his clothes into the saddlebags that Daine had given him for Red. He really had to control himself. People _always_ died. That was the curse of being immortal. People died, and they didn't come back.

Red, as though sensing his distress, pressed his nose into Jack's shoulder.

"You've been ratting on me to Daine, haven't you?" Jack whispered, giving him a carrot. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't." The horse regarded him solemnly with his warm brown eyes. "No hard feelings, you understand," Jack continued. "But you're supposed to be a safe outlet. You can't talk back to me, so I can talk to you, you get it?" Red tilted his head to one side, considering. Jack smiled weakly and offered him a bit, which he took daintily. There was no need for cross-ties in this little barn. Jack gestured and Red followed. There was definitely something to be said for Daine's powers.

"Ready?" Numair asked unnecessarily when they walked out of the barn.

Jack mounted up. "Off we go," he agreed and took his reins.

Daine, sitting on a saddle for once, took the lead on Cloud. "It'll take us about an hour to get to town at this pace," she said. "So tell us about the Guardian."

No beating around the bush for this one, Jack thought unhappily. This explanation was going to be more revealing than he would like. He hoped these two had open minds. "Right. I told you that I was a traveler, right?"

"Yes," Numair said. The mage sat up straight on his black and white horse's back, watching Jack keenly. He was nearly vibrating with excitement, and Jack would've thought it funny, if he still had a heart.

"Well," Jack started, taking a deep breath for luck, "Would you believe me if I said I came from beyond your planet, from somewhere up in the stars?" He grimaced at how that must sound, and then looked uneasily at his two companions.

Way back when, this sort of thing was heavily frowned upon. Jack was giving them information that was highly beyond their society, and telling them facts that their science hadn't reached yet. There were laws about this sort of thing, but the Time Agency could go hang itself for all Jack was concerned. This would be easier if he was honest, and he had the gods here on his side.

Jack was tired of conning people.

His two companions were staring at him in disbelief. "You're not a god," Daine said derisively. "I know a god when I see one, and you're—"

"No," Jack interrupted, although he huffed a laugh. Him, a god? The thought was absurd. "I'm not a god, I'm a traveler. Just a traveler." Saying that he was a mortal would, Jack thought, be like a sick joke. "I'm just as human as you and Numair." Well, he amended to himself, almost.

The mage had a thoughtful look on his face. He looked up at the blue sky, and then said quietly, "The stars…" He paused and then his face cleared in a delighted smile that Jack immediately recognized: an academic and a closet explorer, who just had his theory proved. "There's a school of thought that the stars are like our sun, only immeasurably far away. Is this what you mean?" His eyes glittered.

"Yes," Jack said gratefully, glad that he did not have to explain that much. Best to keep it simple. "Most of the stars are like your sun, but they're like snowflakes, really, no two are the same." He smiled a little at the mage's delighted expression.

"Traveling amongst the stars," Numair murmured dreamily, accepting Jack's explanation with a surprising speed. "And how did you end up here?"

"I hitched a ride with a few bad apples," Jack said darkly, not wanting to go into the organ harvesters. "People travel in the space between worlds in these vessels – you can think of them like boats, like space ships. I was a stowaway, but if I was found by these guys, all hell would've broken loose. I needed to get away, and fast. I ended up here."

"How?" Daine asked. She still sounded skeptical. "They'd notice if you landed here. _We'd_ notice."

She was a sharp one.

"Short-range teleport," Jack told her reluctantly, after a moment. "There was one on the ship. I used it." This was a lie—he'd used his wrist strap and he had more control than he was letting on. In a place like this, such a piece of technology could be a disaster. Jack was being truthful about who he was, but there was no way they would get a piece of anachronistic technology out of his hands.

"Telly—" Numair started.

"Teleport," Jack corrected. "You disappear from one place, and reappear in another. It's hard to explain without—" without particle physics, Jack didn't finish, because that was a whole other can of worms.

"Your people have the power to do that?" Numair breathed. "That's amazing. Truly. How does it work?"

Jack smiled to himself at Numair's curiosity. Perhaps he was not giving them the entire truth, after all. "I don't really know," he said ruefully, but it was another lie. He recognized the look in Numair's eye – technology was the shiniest toy in the bin. "There's rules to this stuff, and only a select few specialists know how to build them." That was half a lie. A layman of Jack's time wouldn't know how to build one, but Jack was no layman. "Things like that… it can destroy a world. These things can cause wars. It's like…" He searched around for an appropriate metaphor.

"Like a ship," Daine supplied slowly. They both looked at her. "Like a ship that brings in animals that don't belong, and they take over. You can't fault them for living, but all the other animals still die."

The badger was right. She was smart. "It's exactly like that," Jack told her. "We call those invasive species, where I'm from."

"Here as well," Numair agreed. "But you still haven't told us about this Guardian."

"Your planet," Jack started, grateful that he'd gotten past the hard part, "Is in a—well, it's called a pocket universe or a closed system, but I don't imagine that'll mean anything to you. It's isolated, anyway. You can't communicate with the rest of the universe. Nothing can come out, and nothing can come in – apparently this is the Guardian's job. According to the badger, the Guardian's gone missing. He wants me to either find him and bring him back, or close the Gates."

"Before more people like you fall in," Numair deduced. "Because I'm sure there's a profit somewhere in starting a war over a piece of technology."

"I know people who would love nothing better," Jack agreed darkly, thinking of another man with many names: John Hart, Vera Sooth and Mahael Todd. He was a friend and a good one—for a given definition of good—but the man was a loose cannon.

"That's how these weevils got in, isn't it?" Daine asked.

Jack nodded. "I suppose so. The badger said you would help me, which is why I'm telling you this. I would appreciate it, however, if you kept it between us." He shifted uncomfortably on Red's back. This smacked a little like Torchwood, which made him nervous, but what else could he do? He did need help, because he didn't know the inner workings of this planet. He didn't even know how the so-called magic worked here, or how it could be ruled by gods.

"We'll help you," Numair said derisively. "But I disagree. I think that we should tell the king."

Jack suppressed a shudder. He'd been afraid of that. Torchwood One in London had made employees swear an oath to _Queen and Country. _When Jack had taken over Torchwood Three in Cardiff, he'd done away with that little ritual. Queen and Country had done him no favors, especially after—

"I've had a few bad experiences," Jack stated flatly, "with kings and queens."

"We won't tell him about the—the telly-port," Daine said. "We can just tell him about the planets, and the Guardian."

"We'll see," Jack mumbled.

They rode in silence for a while, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, Numair laughed. Daine and Jack looked at him.

"It's amazing!" the mage said. "Stars like our sun. Other worlds. The space _between_ worlds. Have you been to many, Jack?"

"I've seen a few," Jack smiled. Numair's joy was infectious, and doing wonders to burn away the misery that had lingered from his dreams. "You should've seen…" Jack's voice faded, but then he shrugged to himself. Where was the harm? These memories were good ones, and the journey to Pirate's Swoop was long; there would be time for stories. "A while back I met a man called the Doctor," he began after a moment's hesitation. "He wasn't human, something called a Time Lord – last of his kind. I used to travel with him, way back when. He had this ship called a TARDIS—"


	12. Chapter 12

Numair was practically beside himself with glee. Even Daine, on whom the more esoteric sciences were lost, was interested. Their joy influenced Jack; generally melancholy and quiet, he practically became a new man, all toothy grins and raunchy jokes.

Jack spun them a tale about this Doctor, this Time Lord, the sole survivor of a massive war, utterly in love with a human girl called Rose Tyler.

The story lasted them until they got to town, where they picked up supplies for their journey. Numair kept on firing questions, making Daine giggle and Jack squirm. Daine would hush him when he probed too far, reminding him to give their skittish friend space, although Jack seemed to be enjoying the questions as much as Numair enjoyed asking them.

By three o'clock they were riding out, making their way to Pirate's Swoop. Jack had them in stitches as they rode in the sunshine, talking about some absurd adventure on a planet where the inhabitants communicated using smells rather than sounds. The Doctor's magical ship had some trouble translating, and they'd ended up in a stinking, horrible prison. Rose had been separated from them and the Doctor, predictably, was beside himself.

"That's disgusting," Numair commented from Spots' back.

"It was!" Jack agreed, grinning brightly. He sat up straight on his gray gelding, holding the reins with one hand, the better to gesticulate with the other. Red was walking with a sort of amused patience, keeping pace with Spots and Cloud as Jack was not really steering. "So the Doctor's gripping the bars, yelling his head off – obviously, this is not going to help, but I think it made him feel better. And then, suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, there comes Rose Tyler, walking down the stairs in this random ball gown."

"Bet that shut him up," Daine said. She grinned at Numair from Cloud's back. The pony tossed her head, amused. They had been in similar situations, where the sudden appearance of Daine had halted Numair's ability to think properly, and Cloud had taken particular pleasure in mocking the both of them.

"You betcha!" Jack laughed. "You could hear his teeth click shut, and who could blame him? She was _gorgeous_. I was lucky he was so distracted- if the Doctor had caught me ogling he'd've thrown a fit. But she just looked that good. Anyway, she walks right over, exhales all over the guard, and he passes out! You can imagine my confusion. So she takes the keys, opens the door and says—"

"'How is it that you always end up naked?'" Daine predicted delightedly, and the three of them laughed.

"That's it!" Jack chuckled. "The Doctor, of course, glares and says, 'Took you long enough!' and then Rose goes, 'You're bloody thick, did you know that?'" Jack grinned, his teeth brilliant white in the sun. Daine hadn't imagined that the man could be so happy, but here he was, contentedly lost in a memory. "It turned out that we were the problem. The TARDIS was translating for us using our breath, but it was too faint for the Lipnonians to smell, so they kept interpreting us by our moving lips, which seemed hostile. Rose, brilliant girl that she was, figured out that if you said your piece and then exhaled, the TARDIS could translate."

"How'd she get the guard to pass out?" Numair asked.

Jack smiled. "She got too close, overloaded his sensors. Like screaming into someone's ear. Anyway, she got us out; we ran like hell and stopped the invasion. We explained ourselves, and were hailed as heroes."

"Did you get your clothes back?" Daine giggled. Cloud was watching Jack with one eye as they walked, clearly entertained by the story.

"Me? No. The Doctor made a big fuss about his leather jacket and he got that back eventually, but the Lipnonians insisted on keeping our clothing to 'keep our scent alive'" Jack smiled wistfully.

He tells good stories, Cloud commented, out of nowhere. Daine looked down at her pony's neck in surprise.

She knit her fingers into Cloud's mane. It must have been interesting, exploring the universe, Daine told her silently, up in the stars with a wild alien. I don't know if I could do it.

No, Cloud replied. You belong here, with me. We can tell stories that are just as good. She huffed and Daine grinned.

Anything you have in mind? Daine asked and the pony snorted, thinking about it.

"Keep your scent alive," Numair chuckled delightedly, and Daine turned her eyes back to him and tuned back into the two-legger conversation. "At this rate, Jack, you're going to have us dreaming up new Immortals."

"Immortals?" Jack asked. He tilted his head curiously. "What have they got to do with anything?"

"Legend says that they're created through mortals' dreams," Daine explained. "I know I'm gonna be dreaming about Lipnonians. That must've smelt horrible!" She grinned.

"There are worse smells," Jack told them modestly, eyes bright with amusement. "It was pretty bad, though. When are we going to make camp?"

"Soon, I think, what about you, dearest?" Numair asked, glancing over to Daine.

"Before sunset would be wise. I think there's a decent spot coming up, actually. Isn't there a brook?" Daine craned her head to look around. The road was a familiar one, as they had often gone to Pirate's Swoop over their vacation. It was a day's ride from Numair's tower, with an early start and a reasonable clip, but they had left at late and stopped at the town for a few hours; they would have to spend the night on the road.

"Right," Numair recalled.

Tell him about the time the stork man fell into the ocean, Cloud implored Daine suddenly, reminding her of their previous conversation. Daine laughed outright.

"Uh-oh," Numair told an expectant Jack wryly. "That's not good."

The other man grinned gleefully at Numair. "Those are the best kinds of stories," Jack said. He looked eagerly at Daine.

"Do you remember," Daine started, a dangerous twinkle in her eye, "When we went spear fishing, Numair?"

Numair groaned, aggrieved. "That was possibly the biggest disaster I have ever experienced, and that includes the destruction of the Carthaki palace."

"Who takes a wildmage spear fishing?" Jack demanded. "That's a terrible idea."

"It was after the Immortals war," Numair explained ruefully. "Emperor Kaddar, who inherited the throne after Ozorne, sent over ambassadors to cement the peace between us."

"Fishing with spears is apparently a sport there," Daine scowled. "And we were being _accommodating._"

Because two-leggers are clearly stupid, Cloud put in wryly, and Daine resisted the urge to chuckle at the comment that no one else would hear.

"So we all got on a vessel," Numair began, gesturing expansively. Spots rolled his eyes as the mage tugged on the reins with his excited gestures. "It was actually around Pirate's Swoop, now that I mention it – apparently the sea bass like it there. I kept on telling Daine not to go," he insisted.

"I wasn't about to let Kitten get on that boat without me," Daine replied huffily. "And Numair, take your reins in one hand so you're not tugging on poor Spots' mouth. Honestly, the amount that poor horse puts up with."

Numair smiled sheepishly and did as he was told, patting the gelding's neck apologetically. Spots gave the horse equivalent to an amused chuckle. He wasn't hurting me, he said. I'm used to it by now.

"Sure, blame the dragon," Jack put in, bringing Daine back into the present conversation.

"Can you imagine?" Daine demanded, now grinning outright. "She'd sink the boat, just by herself. And I'd have to call up the dolphins to save you."

"Let's not mention the dolphins," Numair said dryly. "She almost killed herself trying to speak to dolphins once," he added to Jack, who nodded solemnly, although he ruined the effect by snickering.

Daine huffed. "So anyway, the boat sets out, and I'm nervous as anything. I don't like it when my friends die, and this is not only violently but also for sport."

"Understandably," Jack agreed.

"So Daine," Numair added, his voice taking on a decidedly teasing note, "starts silently calling warnings out to all of the fish. No one sees a single one. Well, the fishermen start thinking it a little odd."

Daine chuckled. "But they start pointing to Numair, because they didn't know what wild magic is. All they know is that he's a mage, and the most powerful on the boat. Of course, this is bad, because the Carthaki delegation was there."

"I was accused of treason," Numair reminded Jack, who started laughing.

"Numair Salmalin: wanted for treason and frightening all the fish away!" he hooted.

"Something like that," Numair grinned.

"So anyway," Daine continued, "the fishermen are getting more and more adamant about how Numair's bad luck, I'm getting more and more afraid that they're going to find out that it was me, and Kitten doesn't like seeing either of us in trouble. So she walks right up to the lead fisherman and whistles as loud as she can, and that's _loud. _He falls over, bellowing 'witchcraft!' but he falls onto Numair who—"

"—goes over the railing and into the sea," Numair finished ruefully.

"I had to call the dolphins," Daine said, deadpan, and they all had a laugh at Numair's expense.

They reached the brook eventually, and made camp. Numair warded them into a circle, explaining to Jack that it was to keep out any unwanted Immortals. For some reason, Jack found this amusing, although Daine couldn't begin to guess why. They bedded down for the night after building a fire and eating the dinner that they bought in town. Daine curled up contentedly in a bedroll next to Numair and fell asleep.

.

* * *

.

There was a Girl in Daine's dream. She glowed golden, and tears made tracks from her shimmering eyes.

"I am the Bad Wolf," she said. "I scatter, in Time and Space. A message."

"What sort of message?" Daine asked.

"To lead… I want you safe… Protected…"

"Me?" Daine asked. "Why do you want me?"

"False," the Girl said. "You are tiny. Everything comes to dust. All things. Everything dies."

"I don't understand," Daine said. "Who are you?"

"I bring life," the Girl said. "I can see everything. All that is. All that was. All that ever could be…"

_But that's what I see…_

_._

* * *

.

Daine whirled at the second voice, but instead of spinning around she sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. It must have been around midnight. The stars were out, and the moon seemed to be just setting in the distant mountains. It was cold enough out that she could see her breath, misting heavily from her dream.

"Love?" Numair asked drowsily. Daine looked down at him.

The fire had died to embers that picked out deep blue in his dark hair. He had turned over and was regarding her with one brown eye. Daine sighed and stroked his cheek affectionately. "I'm alright, Numair."

The mage murmured and drew her down, cuddling her sleepily into his chest. Daine let herself be held, and nestled back into his embrace. She looked across the fire to see Jack, curled into a ball in his bedroll. He looked very small, sleeping alone on a chilly night.

"I had another dream." Daine's breath whispered across Numair's chest.

"Mmm?" The mage opened the other dark eye and regarded her with solemn sleepiness. "What sort of dream?"

She snuggled into him. "That Girl. The Bad Wolf. She kept saying—" Daine yawned. "I can't remember."

"Bad Wolf," Numair murmured contemplatively. He stroked Daine's curls. "What did Cloud call Jack?"

Daine paused. "The Lone Wolf," she whispered, and her breath misted in the night.

"Cub who is not a cub," Numair replied, lips against her hair.

"She keeps saying…" Daine trailed off and then made herself continue. "_I bring life._ She said that last time, too."

"Hmm," Numair sighed. "We ought to—" he yawned. "We ought to write it down."

"Yes," Daine mumbled, and sleep pulled her under once more.


	13. Chapter 13

Owen Harper, dead twice over, was glaring at Jack. "You're an idiot, Harkness," he snapped.

Jack glared right back at his former colleague. "Owen. You're dead. Get the hell out of my dream. I won't stand for this." They were in some kind of dream version of the Millennium Center in Cardiff, next to the wreckage that used to be Torchwood Three. It was eerily quiet, a damp, misty morning. Chunks of the sidewalk were ripped away, exposing the remains of the underground Torchwood Hub, now nothing more than a great, collapsing crater. There was water bubbling somewhere within. Amongst the rubble Owen stood, looking, as he always had, utterly pissed off.

"No," he said flatly, crossing his arms. "No, I won't. And don't go blaming that weirdo Gainel, either, this is me you're talking to. I owe him a favor."

"How the _hell_ do you owe him a favor?" Jack demanded, trying not to stare at the remains of the place where he'd lived for at least fifty years, and even begun to consider a home during the last ten. The thing that looked like Owen quirked a devilish smile at him and Jack looked away from the familiar expression.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Jack sighed, suddenly weary. This was not as bad as the false Ianto, but it came close. Was he to be literally haunted by his past, now? Owen's deaths—both of them—had been almost entirely his fault. "What do you want?" Jack asked, turning his face away from the specter.

"You ran away," the medic accused furiously, uncrossing his arms. "I can't _believe_ you ran away!"

The words hit Jack all at once, and he nearly staggered under the force of them. His head jerked up and he stared at the man. No one but Owen could get that perfect tone, the one that bordered on insulted and insulting. He choked a little. This was not the god Gainel playing tricks. Jack took a breath, collected himself as best as he could and responded, voice cracking.

"What else could I do? Everyone died, Owen!" He stared at his dead coworker and did not allow himself to tremble. Jack wanted to hug him; he wanted to kiss him. God, god, it was _Owen._

The man looked good; his cheeks had a healthy glow about them, and the bandages around his right palm, from where he had cut himself once and never healed, were gone, replaced by a whole and healthy hand. He was as he had ever been—a study of contrasts, pale skin and dark eyes, high cheekbones and dark, slightly curled hair cut short around his head. He was, Jack thought desperately, a sight for sore eyes.

And then, of course, the bastard opened his mouth.

"Just because your precious fuck buddy—" Owen huffed.

"Don't you dare start on that, you don't know the half of it," Jack snapped. Oh, yes, this was definitely Owen. Jack recognized the conflicting urge to hug him and break his nose.

"Yeah, yeah," Owen grumbled, shifting his weight uncomfortably under Jack's glare. "Listen, Harkness. I'm doing old Gainel a favor here, since you don't want him tampering with your dreams."

"How did he find you?" Jack demanded, still restraining himself from any form of physical contact, even though he badly wanted to embrace the other man. Owen could be hugged, and Jack had done it several times before, but not when he looked like this. This was business, and it was Jack who was in distress, not Owen. The dead man waved a hand.

"I'm not really alive and I'm not really dead," he said dismissively. "The stuff of dreams, Gainel said. Anyway, my body's gone. _You_ brought me back to life the first time, I think you should remember. I wasn't going anywhere, after that."

"You were eradiated," Jack said softly, regretfully, and the urge to hug him increased tenfold. "Tosh said you were trapped when the reactor went critical."

"Yep. My body decomposed—that was fun, by the way—" sarcasm dripped from his voice, "but I was still hanging around, when it was over, only _this_ time I wasn't corporal." He scowled.

"Oh, Owen," Jack breathed, giving in and gripping his arm in sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well, you should be." Owen shook Jack off, and he removed the hand. No, no hugging here. It was so like Owen, Jack thought with desperate fondness. "Gainel's offered me a place in this Black God's realm here, in exchange for passing you messages. So here I am, passing you messages." He handed Jack an envelope, scowling. "Like a bloody pigeon."

Jack huffed a small laugh at his tone and took the envelope. As soon as his fingers touched the coarse paper, the landscape started to ripple.

"I'll be seeing you," Owen sneered, and everything went dark.

Jack opened his eyes.

Sunlight was just peeking over the horizon, casting a misty, early morning glow around the landscape. He was in his bedroll, and he knew that. He was in Tortall, and Owen was dead and Jack could deal with it; there was none of the fury that had risen sharply in him when Gainel had taken Ianto's form. Jack sighed and rolled over.

There was something scratchy in his hand. He blinked, looked down, and saw the envelope.

"Right," he mumbled drowsily. "Obviously." Carefully, he opened it.

_**You are our substitute Guardian, as promised;  
there is something heading toward the Gates  
and the Great Gods want it gone.**_

"Great," Jack muttered, slowly waking up. "Because gods can't ever be specific."

"Jack?" Numair walked over, towering above him and blocking the light. Jack, supine, squinted up at him. "We need to break camp if we're going to reach Pirate's Swoop by tonight."

"Right," Jack said again, slipping the note into his bedroll, and then staggering out of it.

They ate a quick breakfast and broke camp, mounting their horses and riding down the road. The farther they got from the town, the smaller the road became, and as the trees rose more and more densely around them, Red started to shy, huffing nervously.

"Easy there," Jack murmured to his frightened horse and glanced at Daine in confusion, hoping for a translation. She was looking around warily, and had pulled her bow from where it was clipped to her saddle. "Daine?"

"Killer unicorns," she growled, pulling an arrow from the pouch in her saddle and notching it, although she didn't pull it back. "Stay close."

Jack, always prepared, unclasped his revolver from his belt. Numair shot a look at the weapon but did not comment, which was good. It was an anachronism and would be awkward to explain, Jack thought with wry amusement. The horses huffed nervously as they walked. The woods had fallen silent except for the quiet clip-clopping of hooves. There were no birds.

Red tossed his head and Jack hummed to him, resting a hand on the horse's neck. Adrenalin was starting to make him antsy, and he carefully cleared his mind. No need to be nervous; he was a trained soldier, and in his time he'd fought scarier things than _unicorns. _

There was a squeal from deep in the woods. It sounded like a horse, but the noise came from deeper in the throat and Daine tensed. "Go, quickly!" she called, "That was a hunting cry—I'll follow."

Numair looked like he wanted to argue, but Spots made it impossible; he lunged forward, apparently at Daine's command. Numair yelped indignantly—clearly, the mage was not the best of all riders—but caught himself as the gelding raced forward. Jack himself gave a little yip of surprise as Red leaped to follow, hooves clattering in a swift gallop as they raced down the road. Jack clung to his reins and wondered how the hell he was supposed to get a clear shot from the back of a damned horse. Red's movements jostled his arm.

Suddenly, something white and streaked with black leaped out onto the road, silver claws grinding stone. Red and Spots started, spinning and squealing in alarm. Jack clung on to his horse and looked over, meeting the killer unicorn's eyes in surprise and then defiance.

It was smaller than he would've expected, and its dark horn curled like a corkscrew. The tail was long and whip-like with a tufted end like a lion, and its short, pony-like legs ended in claws rather than hooves. It bared its fangs threateningly, eyes forward-facing and far more intelligent than he had expected. It snarled at him.

It lunged first at Spots with its dark horn, but Numair's horse, is seemed, was not as helpless as he looked. The black and white gelding squealed, rearing and striking out with his hooves. Numair did not make a sound this time but clung to his horse determinedly and a bolt of black, glittering power whistled from his outstretched hand to the creature, which feinted and fell back. There was the sound of hoof beats behind them as Cloud and Daine caught up. The gray pony was racing toward them, and Daine had fired three bolts. They all hit home; three dead unicorns lay in the road, but it seemed that they hunted in herds, because Jack counted at least twelve more of them, closing in from the woods.

"Look," Daine called to the advancing herd, "I'd rather not kill you, if you just—"

A large, shaggy one pranced forward, huffing and snorting. It looked like it was the alpha, or whatever killer unicorns had for a leader. They all had black tangled in their white fur, Jack noticed, and then realized that the dark streaks looked like dried blood. It bared its teeth at Daine, and clearly said something unpleasant, because Daine fired.

That was all it took. The herd, surrounding them, lunged as one, claws screeching against the stone and mouths foaming, teeth bared.

Jack was reluctant to use his revolver, given that it was an anachronism, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He made a swift decision, and then fired; there were five loud _cracks_ in rapid succession, and Red reared in fright at the noise. Five unicorns went down, two more with Daine's bolts, and Numair threw his strange power at three more. The remaining two fled, kicking up dirt with their claws as they disappeared into the forest.

Red squealed again, prancing down once and then back up again. From the side, Jack could see the whites of his eyes.

"Easy," Jack whispered, pulling the reins tight as Red squealed once more and tried to bolt. "Easy, you're alright, see? No harm done." He quickly put the gun away and patted his huffing horse's neck. Red threw up his head and stilled, trembling. Jack sighed at his apparent calm, relaxing, and then, suddenly, Red's tense muscles coiled again and he bucked wildly.

Yelping with surprise, Jack went flying and hit the road hard. Red gasped, standing stiff with terror, staring at down him with white rimmed eyes. Stunned, Jack blinked at his horse. "Ow," he muttered.

"Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith!" Numair breathed. He stared at the dead unicorns and didn't seem to notice that Jack had taken an unscheduled dismount. "That was a massive herd. Is everyone alright? Daine, Jack?"

"M'fine," Daine replied and looked over at Jack, sitting in the road. She couldn't hide an amused snort. "Jack? Are you alright? Did Red throw you?" She slid from Cloud's back and walked over to calm Jack's gelding, who looked ready to bolt again.

Jack got up and scowled at his horse. "Yeah," he muttered sourly. Red snorted and then turned to Daine, huffing anxiously.

"He panicked," Daine said, stroking the gelding's nose. "He says he's sorry."

"S'alright," Jack replied and looked down to reload his revolver. Honestly, he thought wryly as he unclasped it again and dug into his pockets for some spare bullets—he would need to get more from somewhere eventually—this was completely typical. He'd shot the enemy, survived killer unicorns and then his damn horse threw him.

"What made that noise?" Numair asked, peering at Jack's revolver from Spots' back.

"Revolver," Jack said. He didn't look up as he re-loaded it. "Don't worry about it."

"That was a _weapon_?" Numair demanded, eyeing the gun in Jack's hand. "How—"

Daine patted Red's cheek and then moved to inspect the unicorns that Jack had killed. "A very small, metal crossbow," she murmured.

Jack smirked a little at the metaphor, clipping his gun back to his belt. He took Red's reins, because the horse looked ready to bolt again and strolled over to inspect the damage himself. "You could say that, yeah. But the ones that ran off—" His voice trailed.

"You're right," Numair said. "Daine, we should keep moving, before they come back for more."

Daine nodded. "It's odd that they didn't listen to me," she muttered, walking over to mount Cloud again. "Usually they leave me alone, at least, if only because I have a reputation. They must be hungry, Numair."

"Or migrating," Numair added. He looked back at the dead immortals thoughtfully. "I haven't seen a herd that big in a while."

Jack glanced back down at the unicorn that he had killed. They were rather beautiful, in a fierce sort of way, he thought sadly. "Do they have a mating season?" Jack asked. It was a shame to kill them, really.

"Maybe," Numair said, anxious to leave. "I don't know very much about them. Come on."

Daine conferred silently with Cloud. The pony turned, hooves scraping on the stone, and Spots followed. Red took a step, but Jack held his the reins, holding him back without mounting. His horse snorted and glared.

Daine turned after realizing that Jack was not with them. "Jack?" she asked. "Numair's right, we really shouldn't linger. There might be more."

"Nothing," Jack murmured. "Just—curious." He pulled Red along with him as he approached one of the dead creatures. His horse protested, snorting and stamping, but Jack insisted and Red went. Jack crouched down beside the dead creature, studying its build and shape, so he would remember. He wondered briefly what a regular, harmless unicorn looked like. Red pulled back at the reins in his hand, annoyed.

"Jack, what are you doing?" Numair asked.

"Just—oh." Something caught his eye. The blood of the animal was silver, and there was rather a lot of it to his left; it glinted in the sunlight. He moved over to another unicorn, one taken down by Daine's bolt. Red tugged irritably on the reins again. There was a familiar bite pattern on one of its flanks, the wounds not quite healed. The silver of the blood had caught his eye. "This one has been in a fight," he said quietly. "Look, something bit it, deeply."

"I've never seen anything like that before," Daine murmured, slipping off Cloud again and coming closer. She touched Red's side as she came, and the horse huffed and stopped tugging. "Numair, does anything hunt Immortals, besides us?"

"Not that I'm aware of," the mage replied, craning his neck from Spots' back.

"This looks like a weevil," Jack growled darkly. The marks looked awfully familiar.

Daine crouched beside him to look. "Those are… some nasty teeth," she commented.

"Yes. Look. Four primary canines," Jack whispered, his hand outstretched, hovering over the puncture marks.

"Don't touch it, the blood burns," she warned.

"Yeah, I figured it was something like that," Jack replied wryly and continued to count the wounds. "Eight secondary canines and a larger-than-average bite, because they have hinged jaws. Do you know of anything else that can do this?"

"No," Numair replied and Daine shook her head.

"Could they have been chased out?" Daine asked. "Migrating away because of these weevils?"

"Possibly," Jack agreed, rising to his feet and offering Daine a hand. She took it and they both walked back to Cloud. Red came up to Jack's side, swishing his tail. He was walking a little faster than Jack, eager to get away from the dead unicorns. "But I feel like one of these is too difficult for them. Too fast."

"Maybe it didn't know that yet," Daine suggested, taking Cloud's reins. "Maybe it had to learn. The unicorn got away, didn't it?"

"Fair point." Jack reached for Red's saddle in order to mount up, but the gelding shied away from him. "Hey, it's alright," he told his horse, surprised. Daine paused.

"He wants to tell you that going near dead things is gross," she explained. "I know," she added to the horse. "But Jack was trying to see the bite mark on one, and he wouldn't let you get hurt. He thinks he knows what did it."

She paused and then quirked a wry smile. "He doesn't care what did it, it's still gross," she told Jack. "And he also wants to know about the loud sound you made." Jack blinked, shrugged and took out his revolver.

"Tell him it's like a bow but nosier, and with better accuracy, and it will never hurt him, not if I have any say in it," Jack said firmly. He offered the weapon to the horse, handle first. "And next time, don't try to bolt and I'll leave you back, if you want. I was afraid you were going to run off while I looked, that's all. "

Delicately, Red bent down to sniff it and then snorted, pulling his head up.

"He wouldn't have run." Daine gestured to the gun. "He doesn't like it. Says it smells… bad."

"Tell him that smell is called gunpowder," Jack said with a wry smile. Red lowered his head again, resting his nose on Jack's shoulder.

"He says that he'll trust you, and won't bolt next time. He also doesn't like your—revolver, is that what you called it?" Daine regarded him curiously.

"Yes," Jack agreed, but he didn't answer her unspoken question. "Tell him I know a few people who agree with the sentiment, but it's saved my life a few times." Not that it really mattered; he'd just wake up. Still, the idea was important.

It was odd to be explaining it to a horse, but Jack had seen a lot of odd things, and, for now at least, it was important that Red trusted him. A wise man back in the nineteenth century had once told him that a good horse was priceless and, in an age where there was no other form of transportation, Jack believed him.

Red huffed a little and took his nose off Jack's shoulder. "May I get back on you now?" Jack asked politely. It was very hard not to turn that into an innuendo, even when talking to a horse, but he didn't and was rather proud of it.

Red, to his surprise, nodded. Jack raised his eyebrows at the gesture, but clambered onto the gelding's back without delay. "We should get out of here," he said.

"Yes, finally," Numair agreed, relieved, and led the way. He urged Spots into a clumsy trot. Daine rolled her eyes at his form and brought Cloud around to Numair's side, hissing for him to straighten his back. Jack felt a vague amusement uncurl somewhere deep in his stomach and he quirked a little smile, nudging Red to follow. These two were really quite the pair, he thought fondly.

Horror abruptly raced down Jack's spine, fierce and unexpected. He'd become attached, he realized, appalled, as Red's hooves clacked against the road. He'd become attached to Daine and Numair and their strange world of magic. He even liked Red. Jack swallowed, faltering in his posting and then sitting the trot in shock.

This was bad. No, it was beyond bad, it was _awful_. People he loved died. People he didn't love died. _Everyone _died, because he was immortal. They died whether he knew them or loved them or hated them. It just hurt less if he was ambivalent, because if he wasn't ambivalent, he was generally at fault for his friends' death.

Or his family's deaths. Jack shuddered, and did not think about his daughter's accusing eyes. He had to get out of here.


	14. Chapter 14

The road was paved, kind of, with large slabs of rock ground into the dirt. The horse's shoes made loud sounds against the stones, hopefully scaring away any predators. The noise was soothing, and the rhythm of Red's trot sang a counterpoint to Jack's disturbing thoughts. They kept a steady pace before stopping by a pond at midday. The horses drank, and Daine made lunch, which was a kind of soup in a roll of paper.

"Clever," Jack rasped, trying desperately to distract himself. Daine smiled at him, but her eyebrows drew up in concern at his tone. She was perceptive, Jack thought sourly. Damn her for being perceptive.

"It's a trick the Queen's Riders taught me," she explained, dumping the roll out into boiling water. "Fast and easy to carry. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Jack assured, and it was utterly unconvincing. "Just thirsty."

Lunch was surprisingly palatable, and they got back onto their horses with full bellies, although Jack's control dwindled. As they neared Pirate's Swoop, the scent of ocean grew stronger and the sun began to descend slowly into the sky. They rode through twilight and into darkness, and the moon was rising when they arrived. A small, sleeping town rose in silhouette around a fortress by the cliffs, which overlooked the sea. The gates were open, and as they approached Jack saw a figure on a horse in the shadow of the threshold. He thought of the Guardian he was supposed to substitute, and wondered wryly if this was some kind of sign.

"You know," the figure said in a woman's voice when they approached, "these days it isn't safe to ride at night. _Especially _when you don't send a message to the place you're going."

Jack fingered his revolver uneasily, unsure of the figure before the gates. He glanced over to gage the responses of his companions. Daine had turned to Numair, and although it was dark Jack could see the glare she was giving him.

"You forgot to _tell_ them?" she scolded. The figure on the horse laughed.

"Lucky for you," the silhouette said, "Jon knows us better than anyone would like. He sent a message for you, and I was in the area, so I came to _throttle _you." Jack could hear amusement in the voice, but he didn't relax. A show of amusement was just the thing to ease an enemy's mind, and then strike when their guard was down. He'd be damned if he let anything happen to Daine or Numair, Jack thought fiercely.

"Lioness," Numair groaned, utterly unaware of Jack's tension.

"Don't _Lioness_ me, Numair Salmalin," the woman on the horse snapped. Suddenly she was washed in violet light, and Jack blinked, adjusting. It seemed that Numair wasn't the only mage around.

She was pretty, Jack thought, in an unusual sort of way. Her hair was flaming red, and her proportions told him that she would be short, on the ground. At this distance and in the odd light he couldn't see her eyes, but he got the impression that the color was strange.

"Honestly, is a messenger pigeon so hard?" the woman called Lioness scolded. "Your lover's the _Wildmage._"

Numair looked embarrassed. Daine rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, Alanna," she said sheepishly. "We were distracted."

The Lioness, whose name was apparently Alanna, held up a hand. "And that's all I want to know. Come inside, so we can close the gates. Who's your friend?"

"Cap'n Jack Harkness," Jack said promptly, grinning with all the charm he could muster. This woman was a friend; he could remember Daine and Numair speaking about her. Still, another person was only someone else to put at risk. Jack remained tense, although he smiled and went through the motions of perfect ease. "I take it your name is Alanna?"

"Cheeky," she replied with a grin, looking over her shoulder as they followed her on horseback though the gates. The light she cast was violet, and it made strange shadows play on the walls of the stone archway. "I'm—"

"Sir Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau— called the Lioness, the King's Champion," Numair interrupted. "He won't have known," he explained when the woman gave him a startled look. "And if I let you introduce yourself, you'll just say you're Sir Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau." Alanna scowled and Numair smiled at her teasingly. She flapped a hand at him over her shoulder, dismissing his mocking expression. The mage only grinned more. Clearly, they were old friends, Jack thought uneasily. They emerged on the other side of the gate and halted.

"Lady knight," Jack stated. He was unable to help quirking a smile. His dark thoughts were distracted with the sudden amusement. This place, this Tortall, was _wonderful_, it really was.

"Got a problem with that?" Alanna challenged, eyes turning from Numair and locking sharply with Jack's.

"Nah," Jack's smile widened. His misery of earlier faded, overshadowed by delight. "I think it's brilliant, actually."

The Lioness grinned fiercely at him. "I'm glad to hear it." She glanced up to the ramparts around the walls, and the open doors through which they had just passed. "_Close gates!_" she bellowed, voice carrying and echoing into the night.

The great, wooden doors immediately creaked and groaned, and the men standing atop them began to turn great gears, slowly closing them. "Anyway," the Lady Knight added over the noise, beckoning them up a grassy hill, "welcome to Pirate's Swoop."

Three towers stood within the walls, and they rose dramatically in the moonlight. They sat atop the hill, partially set into the cliff side, and Jack was sure that the view during the day would be magnificent. They rode up to the largest of three towers, where there were grooms waiting for their horses. Jack dismounted with the others, and handed Red off to a short, stocky kid, although he couldn't see his face in the darkness. "Take care of him," Jack told the boy gravely. "I've grown rather attached to this one." He patted Red's neck. The horse snuffled at Jack, eyes bright. He looked surprised, if a horse could look surprised.

"Good," Daine smiled at him. The dappled gelding was looking back as the boy led him away, steps reluctant. "I think he's grown attached to you as well. We stole him off a couple of bandits, wandering outside of Stone Hill," she added to Alanna, who sighed.

"Did you really?" the King's Champion asked in a long-suffering voice. "I've been after them. We'll have to send another Rider group, when we get word to Jon." She tilted her head, and the three of them followed her into the tower.

"Have you all had dinner, or did you ride straight through?" Alanna added as she led them through the huge, double-doors of the tower. Torches jammed in sconces high on the walls lit the place, and Jack was rather charmed by the antiquity of it. The light they cast was warm, and there were enough of them to chase most of the shadows from the corners.

"Straight through," Numair said as they walked across what looked like a great entrance hall and headed for a flight of stairs.

"Well, it's not to me to take care of you, but you should know better," Alanna tutted.

She led them up the stairs and to a landing, where they took a left down a hall. "We wanted to make it here by nightfall," Daine explained ruefully. "We set out late, yesterday, and I didn't want to tax the horses. It's a day's ride from Numair's tower," she added to Jack, "if you start early, and don't stop. We started too late, and it got dark, so we camped the night. Then we ran into those killer unicorns." She sighed.

"Killer unicorns?" Alanna asked. She stopped short and turned to look at the three of them, surprise evident on her face. "Don't they live more to the north?"

"Yes," Numair replied. "Did Jon tell you where Daine and I are going?"

"He just said that you were investigating a new Immortal on the Great Road East to the Gallan border." Alanna shrugged, but her eyes slid inquisitively at Jack. He did not let himself shift his weight uncomfortably under her purple-eyed stare.

Numair nodded. "Yes," he said, and gestured for Alanna to keep walking. She hummed and led them down the hall, but at a slower pace, looking back. "We think they might've driven the unicorns out. One of the ones Daine killed had some pretty particular scars." Numair glanced at Jack.

"Particular scars?" Alanna halted again, this time outside a pair of rooms. "How particular?"

"Puncture wounds," Jack put in slowly, still a little unsure of her. Daine and Numair clearly trusted this woman, and she was allowing them to spend the night here. Daine was giving him an encouraging look and Numair was nodding, so Jack continued hesitantly. "Four primary canines, eight secondary ones. I don't think that this new Immortal is an Immortal – I think it's something called a weevil."

"A _weevil_?" Alanna demanded. "I take it you don't mean those bugs that eat crops."

"No," Jack replied flatly. "I don't. Which one's mine?" He gestured at the rooms. It was rude and he knew it, but suddenly he was tired, and he still wasn't entirely comfortable.

"The one on the left. You haven't told me what a weevil is." Alanna had arched one eyebrow, and Jack reacted instinctively- he wanted to end the conversation right here.

"You can trust her, Jack," Daine said, laying a hand on his arm. Jack startled a little at the contact and looked down at her, all earnest blue eyes and curly hair. She really did mean well, did Veralidaine Sarrasri. He sighed.

"I'm a traveler," Jack said without emotion, still looking at Daine. "I've seen a lot of things. I lived in a place very far from here for a while. The sewers were crawling with weevils – it was part of my job to catch them."

Alanna regarded him for a moment and then nodded, accepting his explanation. "I think we'll talk more about this in the morning. I'll have someone send dinner up. Good night." She walked down the hall.

"You should be more polite, Jack," Numair scolded gently. "Alanna's a friend."

Guilt shivered down Jack's spine. "I think I'm just tired," he said with a strained smile. It was a lie, but it was a believable one. Daine and Numair looked concerned, and it cut him. Nodding to them, he went into the room dubbed his for the night.

It was reasonably large and tastefully furnished. There was a door to one side that he imagined connected to Daine and Numair's room. That was surprisingly considerate, he thought tiredly. Jack went to sit on the bed. It was comfortable, and he was alone so he let his shoulders slump and put his head in his hands. The more he talked about weevils, the more he remembered Torchwood, and the more it hurt.

He wanted to run. He had his coat – he could just run, leave Daine and Numair and their kindness, and the sharp-eyed King's Champion behind. He'd be safe from developing attachments to people, safe from the heartbreak when they eventually died. Jack could strike out on his own, like he had before, take care of the weevils and the Guardian and then split, with ten limitless favors from powerful gods. He could have anything, and the faster he ran, the easier it was to forget.

"I'm assuming," he told the ceiling suddenly as a thought sprang to mind, "that I can't wish for the dead to come back to life."

"You assume correctly," a soft voice responded, almost immediately. "Had you come from this world, we would be able to do as you wish; however, the dead of your world are out of my jurisdiction."

Well then. That was unexpected. Jack blinked and looked around, but he could see no one. It didn't sound like the badger; He heard this voice with his ears, not his mind, and it was not as gruff.

"To whom am I speaking?" Jack asked politely,. The room was quite empty.

"I am the Black God, the God of the Dead." There was a man in a dark cowl standing in front of Jack where there had not been one a moment before. Jack jerked back in surprise, and then forced himself to relax. This god could not hurt him.

"So I'm out of your jurisdiction as well," Jack said dryly, not missing a beat.

"I do not know what you are, Jack Harkness," the Black God said. "I have never, in all my years, seen anything like you. I do not believe that I can even—" he reached forward, as if to touch Jack's cheek. His hand extended, pale fingers reaching out of a black cloak, and he was close enough that he should have been able to lay his palm flat on Jack's face. Jack did not lean back, but the god's hand did not touch him. It was as though the space between them had increased without changing at all, like Tantalus grasping for a fruit just out of reach.

"I see," Jack murmured, watching the hand that came toward but never reached. The Black God sighed and pulled away.

"I am sorry, Jack Harkness. I cannot make you mortal, either. I don't think that you could even follow me into my realms."

"What about Owen Harper?" Jack asked.

The god huffed a little and his voice, as it emerged from the cowl, was amused. "Quite the spirit, Owen Harper. When you refused Gainel, the dream god came to me, to see if there was anyone to speak in his place. I looked for your Ianto, but I could not find him. The dead of your world are hidden from me: I would imagine that my daughter, the Graveyard Hag, would have better luck. Harper, however, is not dead, and he is not alive; he is the stuff of dreams, and thus Gainel's jurisdiction. He agreed to come with me, if I could give him rest."

"That sounds like Owen," Jack replied fondly. "Making a deal with the god of death."

"Yes," the Dark God chuckled. "He was quite sharp with me, you know. No mortal soul has spoken to me that way for thousands of years – they are generally too afraid. Then again, I have never met a human that I could not touch." There was a smile in his voice, although he face was hidden by the cowl. "These are quite the times, Captain Jack Harkness." He started to fade away.

"Death in this world seems very kind," Jack whispered. "It is not so kind, where I come from."

"I am the end of suffering," the god said, and all amusement had faded. His voice was firm and powerful, a simple statement of fact. "And the end of happiness. There is no kindness and no cruelty. I am simply the end. My realms are much as the realms of mortals – they are what the individual makes of them." He vanished.

"Darkness," Jack whispered sadly to the empty space where the god had gone, "silence. Death is nothing, and nowhere where I'm from. They go to the place where I can't follow."


	15. Chapter 15

Daine woke to warmth, and Numair's breath on her face. He was kissing her gently along her hairline, murmuring her name. "Daine, sweet, wake up. Come on, dear one, it's morning."

She sighed, and smiled impishly at him, cracking one eye open. "Must I?"

He grinned against her forehead, his hair brushing her cheeks. "Alanna's going to be pounding on the door any minute," he told her playfully.

"Is she?" Daine teased, and Numair chuckled, lips slowly sliding down her face, making his way to her mouth.

Predictably, there was a knock on the door. They both froze, startled, watching each other with wide eyes. It wasn't the front door; there was a silence and then a scuffle from the other side of the other door, which connected their room to Jack's. Daine could hear a squeak and then a familiar, indignant squawk. "Are you awake?" Jack's voice called from his room, voice strained.

"Go away, Jack," they chorused, and grinned goofily at each other. Numair moved to kiss her again.

"I need a bathroom, or a loo or a privy, whatever you call it here," came Jack's irritated voice from the other side of the door. There was a crash, and shrill sound. Numair suppressed a chuckle against Daine's cheek.

"Down the hall, take a left, you'll find a room with chamber pots," Daine said, rolling her eyes up at Numair. He grinned at her, eyes dancing wickedly.

They heard footsteps on the other side of the door and then a high pitched, shrill sound. "By the way, I think I've found your dragon." Jack added, sounding perplexed.

"You've _what?_" Daine jerked away from Numair in surprise, abruptly recognizing the squeaking that had come from Jack's door, and the familiar note of panic in the man's voice- that was very common in people who looked after Kitten for the first time. Daine tried to sit up, but Numair held her still, arms tightening playfully around her waist.

"Jack can handle himself for a little while longer," he whispered. Daine threw him dry look and he raised his eyebrows back, lips twitching in a smile. She tugged, suppressing a grin of her own. Numair resisted, and it resulted in a playful tussle. They ended up falling hard on the floor, both laughing at the pained look on the other's face.

There was a familiar whistle-croak, and the sound of the door opening. Daine gave a tiny, horrified squeak, whipping her head around.

"Now I know I'm interrupting something," Jack muttered, standing in the threshold. He was wearing his breeches and tunic, with his coat thrown over his arm. He looked down at the two of them with an odd little smile around his lips. Daine would have been utterly mortified, but she was distracted by a blue-white blur. Kitten had thrown herself at them.

"Kit!" she exclaimed in surprise and delight, struggling to disentangle herself from Numair and the sheet that wrapped around them both. "What are you doing here?"

Kit, utterly unhelpful, chattered obliviously back and tried to climb into the tangled mess of the two-leggers and the sheet.

"Glad to see you too, little one," Numair's voice was exasperated but fond. He grinned and pulled the dragon over playfully by her tail. Kit shrilled gleefully and batted at his nose.

"She opened my door this morning," Jack said. He was leaning his shoulder in the threshold and crossing his arms, watching. His voice was cheerful, but if Daine had looked at his expression, she would have seen the shadows that lurked in his eyes. "And then there was this massive upright lizard, who turned out to be your Tkaa, dropping her off. He said something about something urgent, and then split. I don't know why he left her with me – I've never seen her before in my life – but she came right over." He eyed the little dragon uneasily.

Kitten stopped trying to snuggle with the hopeless knot on the floor, and turned back to Jack. She leaped off them, ran to the man in the threshold, and stretched her paws to his hip, clearly begging to be picked up. He stiffened, leaning away.

"She likes you," Daine said, finally managing to disentangle herself from Numair and the sheet now that Kit had left them. She stood and leaned over to help Numair up.

Jack looked down at the dragon clutching his hip reluctantly. "I see that. I just keep wondering why." Kitten shrieked shrilly, demanding, and Jack flinched, apparently startled at the noise.

"Kit!" Daine scolded. The dragon turned, chattering excitedly at her before turning back to Jack and fixing him with pleading eyes. "Leave poor Jack alone. Um. Can we get dressed?" she added sheepishly, glancing at an embarrassed-looking Numair, who had not let go of her hand. She was wearing a shift, at least, but Numair had tucked the sheet around himself, looking embarrassed.

"Yeah," Jack muttered. The corner of his lip quirked in a kind of helpless smile and he bent down. With a gleeful burble, Kit fairly leaped into his arms. He hefted her uncomfortably into the crook of one elbow before standing up again. "I have to use the loo, anyway. You said down the hall to the left?" He gestured with his thumb. There was something desperately sad in his eyes, and Daine paused when she saw it, confused.

"Yes," she agreed slowly. "You can leave Kit here, if you want." He held the dragon easily enough—clearly, he was not afraid of her, like many were. But Daine had noticed his guarded expression, and now that she was looking she could see the tension in his shoulders. He seemed uncomfortable, and his jaw was set, as if he were fending off a physical blow.

The dragon turned yellow and shook her head emphatically, clinging to Jack's tunic, oblivious to the man's distress. "She can come if she wants," he said. His tone was bemused, although it did not match his stricken expression.

"Alright," Daine replied doubtfully, still puzzled at Jack's odd tension. "Be good, Kit," she told the dragon. Kit whistled happily and nodded, clinging to Jack.

"I'll be seeing you," Jack said. "And sorry," he added, gesturing to the floor where he found them. Daine and Numair glanced at the sheet and, as one, turned scarlet. Jack closed the door and walked off, still holding Kitten.

"Well," Numair said into the sudden silence, "that was a mood killer."

Daine laughed and went over to hug him anyway. "Sorry, laddybuck." She wrapped her arms affectionately around his middle and laid her head on his chest, and he sighed contentedly.

Numair smiled and cuddled her. "There's always tonight," he murmured, resting his cheek on her hair. He held her for a few quiet seconds and then released her. "I think Kitten's infatuated with Jack," he said, breaking the moment.

"That'll never work," Daine chuckled, kissing his cheek and walking over to a drawer to change from her nightclothes. "She'll break his heart."

Numair laughed easily and joined her. Gallantly, he handed her a tunic and she smacked his chest playfully. She had a feeling that she wouldn't get many private mornings with Numair after this for a fair amount of time.

They played and roughhoused and readied themselves and, as predicted, Alanna pounded on their front door.

"We'd've definitely had enough time," Numair muttered to no one in particular as she bellowed for them to come out. Daine chuckled and opened the door.

"Good morning! We heard from Jack that Tkaa came back and dropped Kitten off," she said by way of greeting.

Alanna nodded. "Yes, and then he was on his way again. He looked rushed— apparently it was urgent. Where's your friend?" She looked down the hall to Jack's door, which was ajar, clearly indicating that he'd gone somewhere. Daine was about to explain, when the man himself interrupted her.

"Right here," Jack said from behind them, and Alanna spun in alarm.

"You walk quietly," she accused, startled.

Jack shrugged. He was still holding Kitten, although he leaned away from her. It wasn't enough for Kit to notice but Daine, standing farther away, could see the strain in his neck. There was definitely something odd about this, she thought. "It's the shoes," Jack confided. "From a place called Paelor – they muffle noise."

"Is this a place or is this a planet?" Numair asked. Daine glanced at him in alarm as Jack's eyes narrowed. He tensed further. "You can tell her, Jack," the mage soothed their jumpy friend.

"Both," Jack replied, letting out a breath and looking resigned. He knelt to put Kit back on the floor. The dragon shrilled a protest, clinging to him. "It's a country on the planet Scleb," he said over the noise.

Kitten, with two feet on the ground and her front paws clinging to Jack's tunic, chattered loudly at Alanna. The Lioness huffed at the baby dragon, although her voice was amused.

"What did I do? It's not _my_ fault he's nervous," she told the dragon.

"I am not nervous," Jack said indignantly, and shifted Kitten firmly to the floor. "The fewer people who know about me the better. I keep on telling you," and now he stood to meet Daine and Numair's eyes with his steely blue ones, "that bad things happen to my friends." As soon as he'd stood, Kit had reared up and grasped his breeches. She whistled sadly at his words.

"Well, that's nothing I'm not used to," Alanna told him. "I'm a knight, in case you haven't noticed. I've traveled all over and lived through all sorts of scrapes. You really don't have to worry about my welfare."

Jack shook his head, looking away. Kitten cheeped at him. He took a breath, scooped her up again and went over to Daine. "Here," he said softly and passed her over. Kitten shrilled in protest, but Jack was firm. "You shouldn't trust me with your children. Come on. Is there a conference room, or something? I'd rather not sit around a hallway."

"This way," Alanna said. She considered Jack for a long moment and then nodded, leading the way down the hall.

"Is George around?" Numair asked after a moment. "I think it would be best if he heard this too."

"No," Alanna said. "He's in Corus dealing with some old—friends of his. I can pass it on, though."

Jack scowled. "So much for secrecy."

"George has kept more secrets than I can keep track of," Alanna snapped.

Jack shrugged and muttered, "Your funeral."


	16. Chapter 16

This had gone straight to hell.

There were children involved. Jack resisted the urge to flee as they walked down the hall. He swallowed, stuffing shaking hands into his coat pockets. _Calm_. He shouldn't be staying here this long, with this much quiet in between moments, Jack thought frantically, tamping down hysteria. There was too much time to think, and old grief touched his toes like an incoming tide: cold, damp, and inevitable. If he ran, he could get away. If he _ran_—

_I've got a lot of dirt to shake off my shoes, _he'd told Gwen. He hadn't been lying.

The little dragon trotting beside Daine turned and cheeped at him. Her scales had started to turn gray, and Jack looked at her, hiding behind a familiar mask of humor and concealing sheer, unadulterated panic. Daine had been right. The young dragon, barely up to his knees on all fours, was magnificent. She was scaled delicately, more like a lizard than a fish, and kept on changing colors. She'd been blue when he met her, and then yellow and now gray. Her snout was serpentine, her eyes blue and slit pupiled. The wings on her back looked far too small to carry her in fight, and her tail was half again her length, her neck long and slender.

His grandson had been magnificent, too. Jack pushed down the bile that rose sharply in his throat. His mind wanted to supply a name for the boy, but Jack flinched away. It was easier to live with himself, if he didn't remember what the child had been called. Jack forced the horrific memory back into the depths of his mind and looked around desperately for a distraction.

Kitten is an Immortal, something whispered into his mind as his eyes fell once more to the dragon. If nothing kills her, she'll never die.

She'll _never_ die_._ Safe, _she'll live as long as you do. _Jack did not tremble. "You shouldn't let her come, it probably won't be safe," he told Daine weakly. Keep your children away from me, he wanted to beg. Please, please, keep your children away.

"I don't think she'll let us go without her," Daine replied easily, and Jack winced at her apparent unconcern. _You don't understand, _he wanted to cry, but of course he kept his mouth shut. _You don't understand!_

Kitten was an innocent, the perfect sacrificial lamb for a cruel universe, and it sent chills up and down Jack's spine. So much blood on his hands, so much. This wasn't fair. He never should've left that merchant ship. Those people were rotten scoundrels, and the more of them that died the better. These Tortallans were _good_, and they shouldn't be around people like Jack. He had to get out of here.

Alanna led them up some stairs and down some more, thoroughly twisting Jack around, until he was unsure if he would be able to find his way out, if he needed to. He wanted to run. Right now, he wanted to run away from the mere possibility of another child's blood on his hands. But his acting was good; he followed Alanna, Daine and Numair placidly. Finally, they reached a room that looked like a library. A servant was just laying out a plate of breakfast in the middle of the largest table when they walked in.

"Thank you," Alanna told him politely. Jack barely heard her, scanning the room frantically for exits.

"My lady," the servant murmured, and left with a bow. Alanna sat, and Daine and Numair followed suit. Jack slid carefully into a seat next to Numair, and tried not to flinch when the dragon hopped up onto a beside next to him.

"Alright," the Lady Knight began, taking what looked like a pastry of some kind from the plate that the servant laid out. "Tell me everything."

That was exactly what Jack had not wanted to hear. He froze, eyes wild, and heard nothing but his grandson's eerie, awful scream in his ears. His muscles tensed, and he wanted nothing more in that moment other than to leap and flee, bargains with gods be damned. There was a door behind Alanna, on the other side of the room, just there- he could—

"We met Jack a little down the road from my tower," Numair supplied, beginning when he saw how Jack had tensed. The panic faded, then: Jack remembered where he was and which story Alanna was asking for. She didn't want the horror, she wanted what had happened since he'd reached Tortall. He forced himself to relax, shooting Numair a grateful look, and took a pastry. The food would focus him into the moment, and, chewing, he let his monstrous memories fade away, back into the darkness where they belonged. "He'd been attacked by a spidren, and his coat was ruined. He stayed with us for a week while Mistress Carra – you know her, right? She's a Gifted seamstress in Stone Hill – was fixing it."

"I keep hearing about this Gift," Jack interrupted, ruthlessly forcing himself to participate in the conversation. He needed this information; it was important to know about this world. "What is it?"

Alanna's eyebrows rose in surprise. She swallowed her food. "You're really not from around here," she said slowly.

"No." Jack shook his head. _Focus. _

The Lioness raised a hand that began to glow violet. "The Gift," she said simply, and Jack nodded to himself. That made more sense than it didn't.

"I figured it was something like that," he murmured, and then sighed. Deciding to continue with Numair's tale, he began. "Alright then. While I was staying at their tower, I was… visited, I suppose, by a badger." He shot an uneasy look to Daine.

"Alanna knows," she assured him gently, and he nodded.

"Yes," Alanna said. "But why would he visit you?" The question was directed to Jack, who grimaced.

"He struck a bargain with me," Jack continued, and then took the plunge. Daine and Numair had been open-minded enough. "I'm—not from around here, obviously. I'm from a different world."

Alanna's eyebrows met her forehead for the second time, but she didn't comment. Jack's opinion of her rose considerably.

"He presented me with a problem," Jack continued, "your world is cut off from the rest of the universe, in short. The Guardian of your Gates has gone missing, and the badger wants me to get him back, and to deal with anything that comes through the Gates in the meantime. The weevils came through before I got here; they're not even from my world—I don't know where they're from, but I've dealt with them before. They're part of the bargain, since they fell through. Daine and Numair," here he nodded to them, "have agreed to help me, and specified that you can be trusted. So I'm trusting you." He took a breath and carefully studied Alanna's reaction.

"That's a lot to take in," she murmured, frowning. "But the most immediate problem is those weevils. What are they like?"

"Six feet tall," Jack supplied, rattling facts off gratefully, "Man-shaped, with dark, rippled skin and four large primary canines. They have hinged jaws, so their bite is larger and stronger than it would seem at first glance, and they have low-level telepathy. That means they're all connected to each other. Stronger than they look, faster than two legs would suggest. They lived in sewers, and they tended to be peaceful unless startled or threatened, living off detritus and the like. Every so often, though, one would go rogue. They're dangerous when they're cornered, or decide to go after fresh meat."

"You said they responded to your friend," Daine put in quietly. Jack flinched visibly and cursed himself. His damn past, sneaking up on him. When would he learn to keep his mouth shut?

"Ye-es," he managed. "Owen was something of a special case." He repressed another flinch when the name slipped out. Why did he keep doing that?

"How so?" asked Numair.

"He—" Jack took a deep breath. Oh, but he did not want to be talking about this. He did not want to be reviewing his mistakes with Owen, not to these bright, innocent people. "He was killed."

This was a stupid idea. He really did not need this right now, not when he was already swamped with memories. Owen' story was a tragic one, and not one that Jack particularly wanted to share. "But we were stupid. There was this—glove. It brought people back to life, but only for a few minutes. We screwed up. _I _screwed up. I brought Owen back, but it stuck." He hitched a breath and kept his face blank and expressionless. "The weevils started responding to him then."

"You brought someone back to life," Alanna said slowly, clearly not believing him. "With a glove."

"We destroyed the glove," Jack put in darkly. "Because Owen—he was bitter before, but this was awful. He couldn't heal himself, you see, if he was hurt. His life functions had stopped. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't eat, he was just there. He tried to commit suicide a few times, but that didn't work. He was stuck in this limbo." And worse, Jack thought painfully, with his second death, when he was eradiated, he still didn't die. His body was destroyed, and he was still there; even now, he'd had to bargain with gods to rest in peace. Oh, _Owen_.

"That's horrible," Daine whispered. Jack nodded, very carefully keeping himself at least appearing composed.

"How did the weevils react?" Alanna asked. Her eyes were sympathetic, but Jack was absurdly grateful that she asked about the facts. That, he could do.

"They moaned and ran away from him," Jack replied, and cleared his voice when it cracked. "They bowed and scraped and cringed if he got too close. Like they were scared of him."

"So they're afraid of—things coming back to life?" Numair asked thoughtfully. Jack gave a bitter, hysterical bark of laughter, unable to contain it. The Tortallans looked at him oddly, but he shook his head at them.

"No," Jack said darkly. "No, not at all. It was just Owen."

Daine reached across the table and tried to take his hand, responding to the pain in Jack's voice. He jerked away, refusing the comfort. "Anyway," he continued, "That's about all I know, except for how to contain them."

"How do you contain them?" Alanna asked, her tone businesslike. She stuck to the facts, and did not comment on the fact that Jack was crumbling to pieces. I like her, Jack decided, scrabbling to stay focused and not lose himself in his own past.

"Cover their heads," he replied immediately, glad of the subject change. "We had an injection and a spray that used to do it, but I don't think I can recreate either. Do you have tranquilizers?"

"Do we have _what?_" Daine demanded.

"Sleeping potions, spells," Numair supplied. "And yes."

Jack nodded. "Good. We can use those."

"I'm coming with you," Alanna stated flatly. Startled, Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Alanna cut him off. "I'm a knight of the realm, and I refuse to go back to Corus."

"It's that business with the new page, isn't it?" Numair sighed. "The new girl. You're not allowed to help."

Jack blinked at the rapid change of topic. Alanna huffed. "Yes. And I need work. So I'm coming with you."

"I suppose we can't argue with that," Numair said, and Jack gaped at him.

"Are you serious?" he demanded, suddenly furious. Why did people keep on insisting in putting themselves in danger on his behalf? It would only get them killed! "What is this, Lord of the Rings? We're all going to go on a merry quest together?"

"Got a problem with that?" Alanna challenged. Jack stared at her.

"We're trying to help you, Jack," Daine insisted.

"I can't imagine why," Jack cried to no one in particular. "I work alone. I keep telling you, and you keep ignoring me. I ruin people's lives; do not follow me." And it was true, he wanted to wail. He could list them – two dates for each name he could give- the day they'd met and a death. The second date tended to be very close to the first one.

"It's our home, you know," Numair interrupted quietly. "This world. It's part of our job to protect it. You may have a bargain with the badger, so there must be some way that you gain by doing this, but the three of us—" he gestured at himself, Daine and Alanna, "we live here. We need this place. If there's a new Immortal, it's a duty to our _realm _we are doing."

"He's right," Alanna said. "We're not following you. We're taking you along as an adviser."

"Because that's so much better," Jack spat sarcastically. Kitten, quiet up until now, cheeped. They all looked at her for a moment. Jack shivered and looked away.

"We'll need supplies," Alanna said, interrupting the silence that had fallen. "It's a long journey. Come on, let's see the kitchens. I have to say goodbye to my family, as well; they won't be pleased."

She has a family, Jack thought with a sinking feeling in his gut. He didn't say anything, but his heart felt like it had twisted in his chest. Just what he needed. More bloody children. And he _liked_ Alanna. He _had_ to stop liking people; this was going to end badly.

That night, they packed to leave the next day. Alanna ordered salt pork and more of those soup roll things, as well as skins of water. It was shaping up to be the start of a long journey and at dinner Jack felt the first stirrings of a sort of guilty excitement. He was going to have a team again. There would be four of them, and they were going weevil hunting, something he had enjoyed in Torchwood. Of course, he'd enjoyed it mostly because of Ianto, but that was besides the point.

Alanna turned out to have three little ones, ranging from about eleven to nine. Jack very carefully kept his distance, letting their names slip from his mind as soon as they were introduced. It was best if he didn't remember them.

They finished dinner reasonably early and Jack made some sort of excuse to get himself away. The little dragon tried to follow but he refused, and Daine took the hint.

"Stay here, Kit," she told the dragon. "I want to know if you learned anything new with Tkaa."

Relieved, Jack slipped out. Still tempted to run, he held himself in check and forced himself, reluctantly, to get some sleep. They would leave early tomorrow, and this would be the last comfortable bed he'd see for a while.


	17. Chapter 17

"They respond to power, Jack."

Jack blinked.

He was standing in the wreckage of Torchwood Three again, near the bay. There was rubble everywhere, and it was daytime, although the streets were eerily quiet. The great crater of the Torchwood Hub yawned from the center, and smoke still curled up from its depths. Owen Harper was sitting on an upturned stone that looked like it might have been part of the sidewalk, once.

"I'm dreaming," Jack said, and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. The breeze from the bay was chilly, as it had always been, and he knew better than to question it. "Right. What responds to power?"

"Weevils." Owen hopped down from his perch and strode over. "They responded to me before I died."

"They did what?" Jack stared at his dead coworker as he approached in shock. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I don't have to tell you _everything_," Owen sneered, coming to a stop and crossing his arms. "It's only from the kindness of my heart that I'm telling you now." His voice was mocking, and Jack rolled his eyes, exasperated but fond. Owen, for all his sarcasm, was a welcome sight.

"Well, I don't suppose I can fire you," Jack said wryly, and Owen snorted.

"Not bloody likely."

"When did they start?"

Owen cocked his head, thinking. "After that creepy fight club, when I got mauled. It bit me, and then I just knew." He shrugged.

"You think the bite had something to do with it?" Jack frowned and paced a little, very quickly, once back and forth. "Some kind of DNA transfer? But we never noticed till you died."

"Then it got more serious," Owen supplied. "Then they did it whether I wanted them to or not. Don't get me wrong, I have no bloody clue how to control them. But I know that they don't like you if you're an aggressor that they feel that they can't beat." He shrugged. "Who's the chick with the sword?"

Jack chuckled. "This gives a whole new meaning to _watching over_."

"Yeah. Well? I like her. And why the hell are you so jumpy?"

Jack sighed and sat down on a piece of rubble. "I'm tired of people dying, Owen."

"Oh, please," Owen sneered. "Don't give me that bullshit." Jack glared.

"You're really a pain in the ass, has anyone told you that?"

"Gwen, actually." Owen smirked. "Don't tell me you're giving up now, Harkness. You _never_ give up." His voice was harsh, but there was that small hint of a little boy begging a superhero in him. It was so very _Owen_, all thick armor and sarcasm to hide the hurt beneath, that Jack couldn't help but smile a little.

"I'm not giving up. I'm just tired," Jack said. He scrubbed his face with his palm and then looked up at his coworker.

Owen sighed and sat down beside him. "Too many lives to save," the medic agreed regretfully. "It's never enough."

"No," Jack murmured. "It isn't."

The two men sat in silence, and watched the dream sun descend from the sky.

.

* * *

.

They left Pirate's Swoop bright and early, just as the sun was peaking over the horizon. Alanna, with a pointed glare to Daine and Numair, sent her husband and the king a messenger bird each, informing of their departure.

"We're not stopping in Corus," the Lioness growled as she mounted her horse, a beautiful creature called Darkmoon. "I absolutely refuse." She picked up the reins and the horse tossed its golden head, sending the dark mane streaming.

Jack took Red from a stable boy. "Why not?" he asked. He reached out to pat Red's dappled neck in greeting. "We'll need supplies by then." Red huffed gladly in his face and Jack smiled at him before tossing the reins over the horse's head and mounting up.

The Lioness glared and did not respond. Apparently she was not a morning person.

"There's a new page," Daine whispered when the King's Champion rode off in a huff. "The first girl, after Alanna. The king's forbade Alanna to get anywhere near her, for fear that it'll look like Alanna helped her through." She swung herself onto Cloud's back and Kitten's head poked up from a saddle bag. The dragon cheeped at Jack, and then the head went back down as she presumably went back to sleep.

"Oh," Jack replied, ignoring his chill at the sight of Kitten. He picked up his reins. "And I take it that she's not a morning person?"

"Not really, no," Numair agreed dryly, and nudged a long-suffering Spots into a clumsy trot. Daine rolled her eyes, following on Cloud.

"Numair, for Mithros' sake, would you sit straight? You're going to kill poor Spots' back at this rate," she scolded, but it was in good humor.

Jack sighed and looked down at Red's neck. Someone had groomed him. The dappled gelding's hair fairly shone in the early sunlight. "What d'you say, my friend," Jack asked, "should we follow them, or run off into the woods?"

Red huffed and answered him by picking up a trot and following Cloud.

"Yeah, alright," Jack muttered. "It was just a thought."

Red snorted, clearly not amused.

.

* * *

.

Pirate's Swoop was an eight day ride from Corus at a slow pace, although one could make it in four, if one rushed. There wasn't much of a rush, but dawdling could prove disastrous if what Jack said about weevils was true, so they moved at a reasonable clip.

The first night, they had all gathered around a fire, cooking three fish on a spit. Kitten was sitting at Jack's feet, playing with small stones. Numair watched their friend keenly. Daine had mentioned Jack's odd response to Kit, and now that he was paying attention he could see it. The man leaned away from the dragon, just a little bit, and while he seemed relaxed enough there was something odd about the look in his eyes.

"Hold on, you've lost me," Jack was saying. "I thought the Immortals _weren't_ imprisoned."

"Not anymore," Alanna explained, leaning over to turn the spits. "They used to be. These are almost done, by the way," she added, indicating the fish.

"Good," Numair muttered, "I'm hungry. Anyway, a few years ago, the Emperor of Carthak had the Barrier between the Divine Realms and our realms lowered," he told Jack. "It released them, and started the Immortals War."

Jack looked thoughtful. "A Barrier?"

"It trapped them in the Realms of the Gods," Daine explained, and pulled up the spit to examine the fish. "When the Barrier lowered, a lot of them came here. Actually, Numair, I think these _are_ ready," she added, turning to look at him.

Numair peered over to examine the fish, wrapping an arm around her waist and setting his chin on her shoulder. She smiled up at him and shrugged. He moved away with a small smile at her and shrugged back. "Looks fine to me, sweet," he said, and lifted the spit off the fire.

"Must've been chaos," Jack said. There was an odd note in his voice at Numair's casual display of affection. Numair glanced over at the man, who pulled a knife from his pocket and offered it to Daine so she could cut the fish. She smiled at him and held up her own.

"It very nearly was," Numair replied softly. He and Daine exchanged a glance. There wasn't really any harm in telling Jack about Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, almost breaking through into the mortal realms, but it was an uncomfortable topic. Jack, however, did them a favor and added thoughtfully, "Could you create such a barrier, Numair?"

The mage frowned, distracted from his musings on Jack's odd expression. Was he strong enough to do such a thing? Not alone, certainly. If he had the right tools, perhaps, and the right help and the right books—he didn't know the spell, although they had studied it in Carthak when he had been a student there. "Yes," Numair said when he realized that Jack was looking at him expectantly and Alanna had rolled her eyes, "but I'd need help, and then I'd probably be sick for days. You're thinking about the Gates, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Jack murmured. "I'm thinking we could use you to close them. I can probably find some way to get you extra power, if you needed it. Still, I'd rather just find your Guardian, because I'd like to be able to _leave _after I'm done here." He scowled for a second, tapping a finger into the grass. "If I had access to a computer—I'm useless in this timeframe." Kitten chattered at him, scolding. Jack sent her a wry smile.

"Access to a what?" Alanna asked, reaching to help Daine cut the fish. Numair looked at Jack with interest. Alanna had stolen the question before he could say it.

"A—never mind." Jack sighed reluctantly. "They're hard to explain. A device that can crunch numbers rapidly, although they can do more than that." He looked thoughtful for a moment, but then shrugged. "I don't have any way to get one, though."

"Could you build one?" Daine asked. She handed Numair his dinner before tucking into her own, passing pieces to her dragon.

"Don't have the parts," Jack replied. Numair wondered briefly what kind of parts that Jack could need, but Alanna interrupted before he could ask.

"How could you get Numair extra power? You're not going to steal it, are you?" Her voice had taken an ominous tone and Numair frowned, confused, at her tension.

"No," Jack said. "I told you I made a bargain with the badger. I can just ask for it. Your gods are willing to provide help, should we need it. It _is_ their Gate, after all."

Numair stared at him in shock. "You—have the favor of the gods," he said disbelievingly. "_All _of them?"

Jack shrugged, apparently not appreciating the fact that he had the favor of _all the gods, _or understanding what that entailed. Whatever the reason, his voice was very offhand when he said, "they want their Gate closed. It's the only reason that they let me stay. Frankly, if they'd asked me to leave, I'd've done that as well. But I have—a good history, with this sort of thing," he added darkly. Numair, distracted again, blinked at his tone. Never mind that he apparently did not realize the sort of power he had with the favor of the gods—how could anyone possibly have experience with open Gates?

"You do?" Daine asked. Numair smiled at her. She took the question straight from his lips.

"I worked on a rift in time and space," Jack muttered quietly, looking down at his plate. He poked his fish. "Things from other places just bled through. That's how we got the weevils, although I have no idea how they got here."

"A rift in time and space," Numair repeated wonderingly. Kit whistled very softly, eyes fixed on Jack. Her scales had turned gray-edged, but Numair hardly noticed, mind lost in the implications of Jack's statement.

"What does that even mean?" Alanna demanded.

"A crack," Numair said softly, amazed, "Right? A crack in time?"

Jack nodded without speaking, and began to eat, eyes downcast.

"That must've been fair confusing," Daine put in, "if you had things from other eras appearing and disappearing." That was his Daine, Numair thought, affection for her swelling in his chest. Always practical.

Jack didn't respond for a moment, but then he said slowly, reluctantly, "It was more like an ocean. Like tides coming in and out, bringing things and taking them away, although not nearly as regular."

"Is that why you left?" Alanna asked gently. "Were you swept away?"

Jack's head snapped up and his heated reply was filled with more self-loathing than Numair had imagined that this quiet man contained. "Everyone died. I couldn't stay." He got up, putting his plate aside. "Thanks for dinner, Daine. I need some air." Jack strode off into the night.

"Jack!" Daine stood, startled. "You can't go walking at night! It's dangerous—"

"I'll be fine," Jack snapped.

"At least let one of us come with you," Numair put in, concerned at the man's sudden withdrawal, rising as well. Kitten whistled in agreement.

"No." Jack's voice was firm and he turned, striding purposefully into the forest.

Daine glared after him. "I'll follow him."

"Magelet—" Numair started in alarm, but he was too late. An opossum was wriggling out if Daine's clothes and scampering after Jack. Kit chattered at Daine, scolding. Her gray edged scales had turned pink with alarm. She made to go after Daine, but Numair grabbed her.

"Watch her, Alanna," Numair said, moving to hand the struggling dragon over. There was no way he'd let Daine wander the forest alone at night, never mind that every animal would wake and defend at her, should she need it.

"Let Daine go, Numair," Alanna told him softly, gripping his arm. She pushed Kit back into Numair's embrace.

"Are you serious?" Numair demanded, furious and worried, "Do you have any idea how much trouble she can get in, out there alone?" Kit chattered in agreement, struggling in his arms. He clutched her tighter and she shrilled in protest.

Alanna squeezed his shoulder. "She'll be fine. Jack's the one that needs the help; he doesn't know what's out there."

"Don't tell me you're not worried," Numair snapped, pacing back and forth, clutching Kitten tighter still. The dragon squeaked and gave up protesting, instead muttering indignantly at the treatment.

"Of course I'm worried," the Lioness growled, "But the more of us that go out there, the less of us there will be here to get them out of trouble when they get hurt."

Numair sighed. "I suppose you're right." He put Kit down and sat, head in his hands, beside Alanna. The dragon sighed in relief and looked wistfully out into the woods. "Don't you dare," Numair told her darkly. "I stay, you stay. Daine'll never forgive me if you go." The dragon huffed and sat beside him sullenly. There was a silence.

"He's hurting," Alanna stated the obvious after a moment. She did not need to specify.

"Yes," Numair agreed with a sigh. "That's one of the reasons Daine and I took him in. I think he loved this place where he worked." He glanced over at her.

"And everyone died," she murmured. "How horrible."

"Yes," Numair replied, thinking of the morning that he and Daine were roused out of bed because Jack was shouting to Gainel, furious and miserable because he had dreamed of a dead man. "I think it was horrible."


	18. Chapter 18

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* * *

---

The forest was clearly old, and though the moon was waxing and soon to become full, it was dark enough to obscure Jack's vision. The great trunks of the trees were little more than formless shapes, the leaves merely shadows. He trudged on, though, squinting to see the roots that twisted like still snakes on the forest floor, fearless of the dark and the sounds of snuffling animals. The night was cool and soothing, and Jack let his sorrow melt away.

It was Red that found him, oddly enough. Tethers were rather unnecessary, given Daine's power, but even still, the horses tended to stay close to camp. Jack tensed at the sound of a cracking branch behind him. He jumped and spun when he felt something hard and strong brush his shoulder blades. As he turned, drawing his revolver, he caught sight of the horse's dappled fur and the glinting brown eyes.

"Red," he sighed, straightening and tucking the gun away. "I thought horses liked to stay with each other."

Red huffed, as if disagreeing. He rested his nose on Jack's shoulder and then, to Jack's shock, drew back and bit him, hard.

"Ow!" Jack cried, leaping back. "What was that for?" The horse snorted derisively, flicking his ears. "You're scolding me for wandering off," Jack muttered, rubbing his shoulder and straightening out his coat. The protection spells held; the shoulder pad wasn't even damp from Red's mouth.

The horse glared at him.

"It can't be that dangerous," Jack told him, turning blithely and continuing his walk. Red, of course, followed at his shoulder. "I mean, seriously. Spider people, and Immortal things in the dark? Please. It can't be any worse than weevils in the sewers. Or—or, hell, my own brother." He laughed bitterly into the night, his breath fogging in the chilly evening air. "Or John bloody Hart." Jack scowled and stepped over a root. Red nickered, sounding concerned.

"I couldn't stay there," Jack told the horse flatly, unsure if he was talking about Torchwood or the fire pit, where Alanna's questions had started to hit close to home. Perhaps it was both. "It was too—" he sighed. "I couldn't stay. Besides, it's a nice night and I bet you if we reach a clearing, we'll be able to see the stars, whaddya say, Red?"

The horse nudged his shoulder chidingly.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, stopping short and looking around the shadowy forest. The wind whispered through the leaves, which cast eerie shadows. "I don't suppose there are any clearings nearby, huh? Pity."

Red regarded him, ears pricked forward and eyes sparkling in the faint moonlight. His dappled coat was emphasized in the darkness, white and gray hair creating c-shaped patterns down his unsaddled back. The gelding looked magical in this light, like a child's fantasy. Jack sighed and reached out to stroke the horse's soft nose, and memories rose around him like morning mist.

"He would've loved you," Jack whispered, throat suddenly thick. The name of his grandson stood on the tip of his tongue, and Ianto's image strolled, smiling, into the view of his mind's eye. He meant both, he meant neither; Jack didn't know which he spoke about, or even if it mattered. Maybe it was neither; maybe it was his brother, stolen so long ago, or the Doctor with his cold eyes or any number of 'hes' that Jack had lost in his very, very long life. "You have to understand. I had no other choice." He swallowed.

The horse gently lipped at his palm and they shared a quiet moment. Then, from depths of the dark forest, a twig snapped.

Red's head jerked up, ears pricked forward. His muscles went stiff. Jack pulled out his revolver.

"Who's there?" he called into the night. Red snorted nervously and the wind whispered through the leaves. Jack looked at his horse. "Go back to camp," he instructed. "Tell Daine there's something in the forest." The dappled gelding stared out, ignoring him. "Red!" Jack hissed.

Red looked down at Jack, then bared his teeth and flattened his ears, a refusal if Jack ever saw one.

"Don't be stupid," Jack scolded. "You're a horse, and I'm armed just fine. Now go!"

There was no response and then, suddenly, Red squealed, spinning and rearing. Jack whirled.

It was a spidren, of course. The great black spider had a man's head, teeth bared in a parody of a smile. Something small and white hurled itself out of a tree, transforming mid-leap into a bird, flapping at the creature's face. "Run!" it cried in Daine's voice.

"Daine, get out of the way!" Jack roared and Daine didn't need telling twice. The bird leaped free, and as the spidren reared, exposing some kind of spinneret; Jack shot it once, and once was all he needed. The loud _crack_ of the gun echoed in the night, scaring birds and bats out of trees. The Immortal made a choking sound as the bullet passed clean through its neck, and then, slowly, it fell over, legs jerking as it died. Red gave a small, alarmed whinny.

"I _told_ you to run," Jack growled at his horse, gun still drawn. Then he called, "Daine?"

A bat fluttered at him. Jack, slightly bemused, held out his other hand and it landed, upside down, grasping his fingers with tiny claws. "Are you alright?" it asked in Daine's voice.

"Yes. Were you following me?" Jack snapped at the animal, flipping on the safety and jamming the gun back into his belt. He checked his pocket; he didn't have any other bullets, besides the four lift in the barrel. Jack cursed very quietly.

"We should get back to camp," the Daine-bat said. "There are three more, and one of them is female. Red, are you alright?"

The horse huffed.

"He says that you should take better care of yourself," Daine translated and Jack scowled. "And that yes, it is that dangerous."

"You were eavesdropping," He accused angrily as they made their way back to camp.

"No," Daine replied. "I was too far away. I was just there to make sure that you didn't do anything stupid."

Jack stormed furiously over the roots that twisted on the ground, Red huffing to keep up with his angry stride. "I'm armed, in case you've forgotten," he told the Daine-bat sourly. "I can take care of myself."

"You shouldn't wander alone at night," Daine replied firmly. "Even _I _don't like to do it, and the entire population of forest animals would come to my rescue, if I asked them to."

Jack scowled again, and they walked in silence. The fire flickered visibly through the trees as they approached camp when Daine spoke.

"I'm sorry Alanna brought up your past," she said quietly. "I'll have a talk with her, alright? Unless you want to talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it," Jack muttered stiffly. Red nickered behind him.

"He says that you should," Daine's voice was soft.

"Tell him I say that I shouldn't," Jack snapped. They'd reached camp. Kitten broke away from Numair with a loud, angry whistle and raced towards them, chattering furiously. Daine sighed and took flight from where she was hanging onto Jack's forefinger, coming to rest on Numair's outstretched hand.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again!" the mage scolded, cupping the Daine-bat in his palm and holding her to his chest. "You scared me to death!"

Jack blinked and looked down when he felt something on his thigh. Kitten had reared up onto her hindquarters, her front paws braced on his legs. She proceeded to whistle and chatter shrilly at him, her scales turning red with fury.

"I'm not going to apologize," Jack growled at the dragon.

"You should," Alanna said softly. Jack looked up at the Lady Knight. Firelight played off her oddly-colored eyes, and her face was cast half in shadow. Numair was exclaiming over Daine's recklessness, and although Alanna's voice was quiet, Jack heard her perfectly. "You scared us all."

Red came up behind him and nudged his back, hard enough for Jack to stumble forward. He turned around and scowled at his horse. "I don't need you all to worry about me," Jack muttered sourly, sitting down. "I do that enough myself."

Kitten whistled again, walking up to him and sitting herself firmly in his lap. Jack took a deep steadying breath, looking wide eyed at the dragon-child that had attached herself to him. Oh, god, she needed to get off him, he needed to get _away_…

"Like it or not," Alanna told him, her quietly intense voice commanding Jack's attention, even as he quietly panicked at the young dragon's close proximity, "You have friends now, although I can't imagine why if this is how you treat us. Stop calling yourself undeserving, stop telling us that we're going to die and deal with the fact that we actually care about you, or at least Daine and Numair do. Their friends are my friends, so I'm looking out for you too. Do us a favor and don't force us to save you, because then we _will_ probably get hurt. That's what you keep on trying to prevent, isn't it?" She looked at him challengingly, daring him to disagree. Kitten, in his lap, shrilled in agreement.

Jack swallowed and tried not to tremble. Why was it that he always seemed to find people who would stand by him, even if he didn't want them? "I can't get rid of you, can I?"

"No," Daine said, back in human form and clothed. "No you can't." Numair tucked an arm around her protectively, but he met Jack's eyes and nodded, slowly.

Jack looked down at Kitten in his lap and lost the battle; the tremor was clear in his voice. "We should go to sleep," he said softly, instead of warning them. Instead of telling them that he was a murderer, that he had a tendency to sacrifice his friends and family for the _greater good, _he said, "we have an early day tomorrow."

---

* * *

---


	19. Chapter 19

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"Jack."

Jack scowled. "Owen, I'm never going to get any rest if you don't leave me alone."

The rubble of Torchwood Three, in all its glory, spread out around Jack's dreamscape. It looked like early evening, and a mist was rising up off the bay. He found himself just to the left of the crater, close enough to see inside but far enough away that he was not in danger of falling. Owen was a little ways away, almost obscured by the rolling fog. There was someone standing next to the medic, an indistinct silhouette that radiated power. Jack quirked an eyebrow and waited for them to come closer.

Owen shook his head as he walked into full view. "I'm not here to talk to you. This guy wants—no, sorry, did I _offend_ you?" He sneered at the shadow standing beside him. "Deal with it. Alright, fine," he added, when it hissed at him, power shivering from it like heat from tarmac on a summer's day. His voice mocking, Owen said, "_Mithros, _the God of the Sun and Shield, wants to speak to you."

That was surprising, Jack thought to himself. Nevertheless, he kept himself calm and his voice amused as he replied, "Owen, don't patronize the gods."

"Yeah, whatever." Owen hopped up onto the piece of upturned concrete and scowled down at the figure that walked beside him. "Speak, O Great One," he said sarcastically.

The shadow lengthened and brightened, and then it blazed with light, bright enough to chase away the mist of Jack's dream. A dark skinned man with a golden sword and spear stood where it had been. "I do not know how my brother puts up with you," the god told Owen dryly, and the medic smirked.

"I made a bargain," Owen mocked. Jack knew Owen very well and he could see where this was going. He stopped it before it got out of hand.

"As did I," he interrupted. "What is it you wanted—Mithros, did you say your name was? This isn't the same Mithros that Numair swears by, is it?" Jack stuffed his hands casually in his pockets and ran an appraising eye up and down the god.

He was a good looking man, if you could call him a man, and Jack wouldn't. Mithros had strong features, high cheekbones and a bare, muscular chest. His sword was rather long, Jack noticed with amusement, and he wondered dryly if the god was compensating. If not—well, he'd never slept with a god before.

That one time on the planet Knaxos didn't count.

"The very same," Mithros said darkly, eyes sharp and judgmental, as though he knew that Jack was running through a mental checklist. Who knew, Jack thought with amusement, maybe he did. "My brother has consented to allow me access to your dreams; will you allow me to show you what I wish?"

"Just the once," Jack cautioned, taking a wary step back. "I think I'm going to regret saying this, but I'd rather talk to Owen."

"Harkness, I'm touched."

"Shut up, Owen."

"Very well," Mithros replied, voice grave and vaguely disapproving. "I will show you." He sketched a vague half circle with his arm, and Owen gave an indignant yelp as Jack's dreamscape of Torchwood Three as well as Owen himself faded away.

"You didn't hurt him," Jack growled protectively as the world melted back into view.

"Your friend is unharmed," Mithros said offhandedly.

They were standing on a round, flat platform above the world. Jack looked down coolly, observing the planet. There was a storm over some islands to the east. If Mithros thought that this might impress Jack, he was mistaken. Jack had been traveling to distant worlds since he was hardly out of childhood; orbiting a planet, while pretty, was nothing new.

"Look out into the universe," Mithros stated grandly and Jack obeyed.

There was a shuttle drifting slowly toward them, venting something undoubtedly foul from one of its engines. It was vaguely elliptical in shape, some sort of propelling device jutting raggedly out from its back. As he watched there was a blazing golden light; the Gate, Jack thought. Brightness rippled across the barrier, and the shuttle passed through with a flash and without a sound.

"It's broken through," Jack stated the obvious, his face turned away from the god. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Destroy it," Mithros commanded. "We want them gone. When they fall to the planet, I can direct them with wind and weather to land in your path; however, that is all I can do. They come from outside our world, and so we have no influence over them."

"If they die," Jack started, "will your Black God take them?"

"No," Mithros said. "He cannot touch them. Their souls will slip from our world and into the beyond, and they will go to the darkness. We want them gone, Harkness."

Jack nodded, watching the ship slowly approach the planet. "I need more bullets for my revolver," he said flatly. "And another diamond for my laser."

"Show me your weapons," the god commanded.

Jack passed the revolver over and unstrapped the laser from his leg. "I'd like an unlimited supply, please." His tone was cordial, but it was a demand, not a request.

"This is one of ten," Mithros stated.

"Alright then," Jack agreed, holding out the gun. "Stick a preservative on the revolver as well and we'll call it a deal."

Mithros passed the gun back. "It will last a thousand years," he decreed, "and it will never run out of ammunition. So mote it be." He then snapped his fingers, and a diamond roughly the size and shape of the one Jack had given to Mistress Carra appeared in his hand. He passed it over. "Anything else?"

Jack regarded his revolver. "A thousand _linear _years, I hope. It won't need gunpowder, either? Or any kind of maintenance? " He cocked back the barrel and was gratified to see it fully loaded.

"Yes. You'll have to clean it every so often," Mithros muttered. "But I believe you enjoy doing that, yes?"

Jack nodded. "No oil, no gunpowder, no bullets; it'll never run out?"

"No."

Jack grinned, but it wasn't pleasant. "Excellent. I'll get rid of your aliens, then."

"Very good," the god boomed and sketched another half circle with his arm. The image faded away, and Jack had a moment's glimpse of Owen's supremely pissed-off face before everything went black.

Jack woke to a pale, foggy dawn. "So mote it be," he murmured, and rose for the day.

---

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Daine took Alanna aside the next day, riding out in front with her, far enough ahead that Jack and Numair could not hear. The Lioness arched an eyebrow but followed, nudging Darkmoon to a trot.

"He's a bit sensitive," Daine said after a moment. The loud sounds of their horses' hooves drowned out her words, and Daine saw Alanna straining to hear.

"Jack? I'd noticed," she replied wryly after a moment. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Daine shook her head sadly. "No. He used to work somewhere, and then he left. I don't know why, but it was something bad, something that hurt him. Someone died, I think, but I don't know who he was to Jack."

"He?" Alanna asked with raised eyebrows. Daine shrugged.

"Red keeps on saying that Jack misses his friends," she continued softly, "although he won't say anything else. Cloud's convinced that he's a wolf."

"A _wolf_?" Alanna demanded incredulously. "Is that a good wolf, or a bad wolf? I know how you see wolves, Daine, but that isn't necessarily how the rest of the world sees them." Her purple eyes were dark and wary.

"Bad wolf," Daine muttered, almost to herself. Those words rung a little bell in her head; there was an image of a blonde girl, glowing golden… Daine shook her head. "No," she added to Alanna. "A Lone Wolf, she says. The Bad Wolf's cub. I keep on dreaming—" she paused, frowning, the image wavering in the forefront of her mind.

Alanna glanced at her curiously. "Dreaming?"

_I am the Bad Wolf… _the words echoed slowly in her mind and then vanished like the wind. Daine reached for them but they were gone. She could not remember. She shivered.

"There's a goddess in my dream," Daine replied slowly, "But I've never seen her before, not anywhere, and Numair doesn't know who she is, either. She keeps on saying the same thing, over and over, but I can never remember what it is."

"A goddess called Bad Wolf?" Alanna frowned, intrigued. "I've never heard of her. What does she look like?"

"I can't really—" Daine bit her lip and concentrated. "Golden," she said slowly, "and she's crying."

"And she's his—what, his mother?"

"No." Daine sighed, looking down at Cloud's shaggy mane. "I don't really know."

"It's a pity we can't just ask him," Alanna muttered sourly.

Daine shook her head. "You'd scare him off," she said. Jack's attitude was deceiving; he was all charming smiles and bright eyes, but if anyone tried to touch anything slightly below the surface, even gently, he shrank and threatened to bolt. There was such terror in him.

She understood that, deeply. But she also knew that they could help Jack, if only he would let them.

Alanna scowled. "I'm really not good with this sort of thing," she commented. Daine chuckled a little.

"I know. Anyway, just don't bring up his past; he closes right off. He's got a good heart, though," she told her friend earnestly.

"Yes, I can see that." They rode in silence for a moment. "Although I don't know how," Alanna added, sounding a little perplexed. "He's done nothing but tell me that he's dangerous."

"He must've done something," Daine mused. "But I can't imagine what."

"We've all done something, Daine," Alanna growled darkly. Daine sighed.

"I suppose."

There was a silence.

He speaks to Red, Cloud told Daine after a moment.

I know, Daine replied silently. But I don't want to turn everything he tells Red into gossip. I'd rather he tell us, instead of having some sort of grapevine. That just isn't fair.

The pony thought for a moment. He should just tell you, she said sourly after a moment. It would help him, just as it helped you. Two-leggers are stupid.

Yes, Daine smiled. They are.

Daine?

Daine blinked at Red's hesitant voice, and slowed Cloud's trot, looking back. Alanna, looking confused, slowed with her. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's Red," Daine explained. Yes? She brought Cloud to a stop and turned back, looking over her shoulder.

Daine. Tell Jack I smell gunpowder. The dappled gelding behind them pranced uneasily, much to Jack's apparent confusion. Then Red squealed in fright, Jack's yip of surprise drowned out by the harsh sound of the horse's hooves as he suddenly bolted down the road.

Daine urged Cloud to follow and the mare obeyed, breaking into a gallop as well. Red! Daine called to him, stop running, it's alright!

Alanna on Darkmoon came close behind, gesturing to Daine. They split up, Alanna on one side and Daine on the other, trying to crowd Red into stopping.

No it's not! Red shrieked hysterically, threatening to buck as the two horses closed in beside him, No, it's all wrong!

"Easy there!" Jack pulled back on the reins and, with a fair amount of ingenuity for someone who claimed to have not ridden in ages, yanked Red to the side. The frantic horse's head turned where Jack pulled him, and his forward motion was halted. He pranced, clearly terrified, and reared up, squealing and striking out at Darkmoon with his hooves. "S'alright, what's gotten into you? Easy!" Jack protested, clinging to his mount's neck. Alanna's mount squealed back, ears flat and huffing, but he backed down.

"He says he smelled gunpowder," Daine said, pulling Cloud to a halt and leaping off her back. She dodged over to the gelding and grabbed his bridle, ducking the flailing hooves and pulling him down. "Easy, Red," she muttered. What happened?

There was gunpowder, the horse gasped, eyes rolling. I can smell it, it's there, I—

Daine— Cloud's voice cut in uneasily. Her head was up and her ears perked as she looked around, nostrils flaring. I can smell it too.

"Please don't run, Cloud," Daine said firmly, not turning from Red. Her pony snorted.

I'm not going to run, she replied indignantly.

Is that what that smell is? Spots interjected nervously as Numair rode toward them.

"Is everyone alright?" The mage asked, panting as Spots slowed from his frantic gallop to catch up. Kitten stuck her head out of his saddlebag and cheeped, looking around with wide eyes. "Jack, what happened?"

"Everyone's smelling gunpowder," Daine told him, frowning. She reshaped her nose to that of a hyena, inhaling deeply. Red jerked in response to the sudden change, but she held him firm.

_RedJack(is it just me or does Jack smell particularly odd? Red's right_)

_CloudtreesgrassNumair(Beloved)—  
SpotsKittenDarkmoonAlanna  
_

_Something acrid and harsh that could only be—_

"Jack," Daine said, eyes still closed, "Let me see your revolver. I need to make sure I smell the right thing."

Something hard and wooden touched her shoulder. "The safety's on," Jack warned, "But be careful anyway. Point the barrel away from yourself, please." Daine reached up and took it, concentrating. She inhaled deeply, checking the revolver's smell against that of the air.

_Gunpowder._

"They're right," she said, reshaping her nose and opening her eyes. "The place reeks of it. Here." She passed the weapon back up to Jack, who looked thoughtful.

"That's wrong," he said quietly, sniffing the air himself, although the smell was too faint for human noses. "You lot don't use gunpowder, unless…" he paused. "We should go check it out," he said decisively after a moment.

"So we're a 'we' now?" Alanna asked, and Jack glared.

"Well, since you won't leave me alone, I suppose we are," he scowled at her, picking up Red's reins. He looked from Alanna to Numair, eyes passing over Kitten and then down to Daine. "Well? Are we going or what?"

"What about the weevils?" Numair asked. The dragon in his saddlebag looked up at him, then at Jack, before grumbling and disappearing again, presumably to take a nap.

"This might be more important," Jack replied darkly.

I don't like this, Red muttered uneasily as Daine relinquished his reins to Jack.

Head up, Darkmoon reassured him. We're all together aren't we? We'll fight them if we have to.

Daine sighed and patted Red's cheek. "It'll be alright," she told him. "Jack'll take care of you. He's scared," she added to Jack, who blinked down at his mount. He stoked Red's neck, suddenly looking concerned.

"It'll be fine," he said, although Daine didn't know whom he was reassuring. She sighed again and got back onto Cloud. Reshaping her nose, she sniffed the air. "This way," she muttered and led them off the road, following the scent deep into the woods.

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	20. Chapter 20

Gunpowder, Jack mused grimly as Red picked his way through the roots on the forest floor. Why gunpowder? Absently, he stroked his horse's neck. The dappled gelding, getting more and more nervous as Daine led them closer to the smell, seemed to appreciate the gesture.

It was an anachronism. Gunpowder did not belong in Tortall anymore than Jack himself did. If Jack's job was to get rid of anachronisms, then this was a big one.

It probably had to do with the ship that Mithros had shown him, Jack thought with a frown. It was a propellant. Perhaps they used it as fuel?

Who used gunpowder as fuel?

Sulfur, charcoal, potassium nitrate. Low explosive. Cheep, in some places, and not very efficient. Worse than gasoline, in its way. Better to use Uranium, or fusion or something. Still, some people probably did. Gunpowder, gunpowder… Who would use gunpowder…?

The horses crashed through the underbrush, the humans on top on them silent and wary. Jack ran through species and races his head, scrolling down a mental checklist. Who the hell used gunpowder? He glanced over anxiously to check on his companions.

Alanna, to his left, was silent and grim-faced, sitting tall and fingering her sword. Her mount had bunched up his neck, lifting his feet high in the stately, powerful walk of a trained warhorse. Numair, a little in front of them, was tense. His shoulders swayed alarmingly as Spots walked, bringing a small smile to Jack's face. The mage really was a terrible rider.

But despite his poor equitation, Numair was radiating power. He seemed to be gathering himself, preparing. Jack's small smile faded uneasily.

Daine, far ahead, was sniffing the air with some kind of canine snout slapped eerily on her face. Jack hadn't realized that her shape-changing ability stretched that far; he wondered if she could transform fully, thought she probably could, and then pondered the possible advantages of that.

Jack would be damned if he let anything happen to these people, he told himself grimly, sniffing the air himself. The trees began to thin, and beyond Daine and Cloud he could see a clearing. Something shifted in the tall grass. Jack fingered his revolver. Daine stopped her pony and glanced back at them.

Alanna looked over to Jack and hissed, "Can you hear that?"

Jack blinked at her. "Hear what?"

"That noise," Numair agreed, glancing back. "Something—high pitched."

Jack cocked his head and listened. The sound was faint and droning, unnoticeable until the others had pointed it out. It was a constant tone, a high whirring noise of working machinery. Jack recognized it: the humming of an engine, a sound so familiar that he'd learned to disregard it.

"Yes," Jack murmured to no one in particular. Spots, on Red's other side, snorted unhappily. The wind whispered, and suddenly picked up speed. It was all Jack needed. Yes, he thought derisively. It was the spaceship. He sniffed the air but still smelled nothing.

"Can you sense anything, sweets?" Numair was asking Daine, who was sitting up straight on Cloud, looking around and listening with some kind of animal's ears perched on her head. The shape shifting thing really was strange, Jack mused with faint humor.

"Yes, but it's odd," Daine replied, voice distant. "It feels like—"

Kitten suddenly poked her head out of Numair's saddlebag and cheeped, startling Jack. Daine looked back at her and then whipped her head around, facing the meadow beyond the trees. "Tkaa?"

Something gray and serpentine stuck its head out of the tall grass in the clearing ahead. An eight-foot lizard, which Jack vaguely recognized as the creature that had dropped off Kitten, approached and then stopped mid-stride, crouching to examine a rock that peaked out from under a tree root. Daine called the name again and the lizard looked up. Jack pulled his revolver from his belt uneasily.

"Something's coming," it said, voice whispery. Its eyes were a sort of rusty color, like iron left in water. Jack remembered them, from when he had very briefly laid eyes on the creature, as clear and sharp; now they were dull, as if the animal was sick. "I can smell it. Something, something—" The lizard looked left and right with a strange sort of desperation, slipping out a forked, serpentine tongue in a gesture that reminded Jack eerily of a stoner looking for a fix.

"Tkaa, are you alright?" Daine asked. "You feel off."

"Very off," the creature agreed faintly. "I can't see." It took a deep breath. "Can you smell it?"

Gray bodies moved in the grass ahead and Jack nudged Red forward, past Cloud and the creature and up to edge of the forest. A breeze picked up again as he reached the edge of the trees. He looked out. The tall grass of the meadow whispered and swayed, teeming with creatures that looked like the great lizard behind him. Tkaa was not the only basilisk here.

"There must be hundreds," Alanna breathed as Darkmoon came up alongside Red. Jack glanced at her, back at the creatures in the grass and then, a thought suddenly striking him, up at the sky. He scanned the bright blueness, squinting against the sun, then saw it—a dark, elliptical shape, so high in the sky that from Jack's perspective it looked hardly larger than a bird.

He knew it would be bigger up close.

A gray cloud was trailing lazily from it, looking almost natural, but Jack knew better. He looked back at his companions, who were regarding him curiously.

"Numair, you said they eat stone?" he asked. The mage nodded.

"A great big metal spaceship," Jack murmured, looking back up, "with gunpowder in the exhaust, drifting down…"

Even as he said it, there was a screeching sound of metal on stone. Every basilisk in the clearing, and there were quite a few, looked up, serpentine heads pointed to the sky. A chill went down Jack's spine and Red danced a little, feeling his unease. Suddenly, the small speck in the sky became a large speck, dropping rapidly before coming to a shuddering halt. Now it looked about the size of a baseball bat.

It must've dropped a hundred, two hundred kilometers, Jack thought in alarm, and braced himself for the sound he knew must accompany such a dramatic change in altitude.

A great, thundering boom shook the forest and the basilisks, including Tkaa, scattered like leaves on the wind. The horses pitched and squealed in panic, and birds leaped into the air. A great wind blew the leaves on the trees, bending back the tall grass.

Jack clutched his reins tightly to pull Red in. "Easy, easy," he whispered. The horse, gasping in fright, whipped his head around to stare at Jack with one brown, rolling eye.

"Something's wrong with their engines, or their anti-grav," Jack told his gelding, reaching down and over to stroke one black-edged ear. "It just dropped; something must've broken. Relax. We've got it under control."

"Engines? Anti-grav?" Numair gasped, barely controlling Spots. Daine had leaped off Cloud to stand at the painted gelding's head, crooning to both horses, Kitten cowering at Numair's side. Even Cloud looked afraid.

Darkmoon, the war horse, seemed to have gotten over it quickly. He stood straight and tall, ears flat back, looking angry rather than frightened. Alanna had drawn her sword.

"Propellers," Jack told him and then addressed his other companions as well. " Things to keep them in the air. We have visitors."

"The Gates," Alanna said flatly. "Someone's come through?"

"It seems that way. Stay here," Jack ordered, and urged a reluctant Red forward.

"Don't even think about it," the Lady Knight snapped, following on Darkmoon. "I'm a knight of the realm, and if I have to act as ambassador too then I—"

Her voice cut off as another thundering boom split the air. Jack jerked his head up as Red squealed in fright. Alanna gasped, and Jack could hear Daine and Numair making similar sounds of awe.

The ship had dropped farther, and now hovered less than a hundred feet from the ground, fully in their view and huge. For his part, Jack was not impressed. The ship had looked menacing from afar, but close up he could tell that it was a clunker. The paneling was scratched up, and it wheezed dark pollution onto the ground. There was writing on the side in Galactic standard, and as the ship descended further, he could read it with little problem.

_Krasodaner, Malinb doore. _

_We flee the wars of Malinb._

Panic and horror flooded down Jack's spine. It was a refugee ship.

Shit.

Shit, shit, _shit. _

Not invaders, which he could destroy without guilt. Not even explorers, or merchants, which he could kill and feel only vaguely guilty. He could even deal with colonizers without a problem, but _refugees_? Mithros, God of Sun and Shield, wanted him to kill _civilians? _

Jack's breath stuck in his throat. It was the job, he told himself grimly. What kind of Torchwood Operative would he be, if he couldn't do the job? He'd done worse things in his life.

… and what kind of conman would he be, something whispered from deep within him, if he didn't get something out of the deal?

_We want them dead, dearie, _an old woman's voice suddenly growled in his head. _We already made our bargain, unless you would like another one? I can find you something you've lost, for another favor…_

I don't care, Jack thought back fiercely, get _out_ of my brain! He slammed all his defenses down at once, hopefully blocking out whatever meddlesome god that decided to play with him today. Cold fury suddenly filled him. _No. _His brain was _off limits, _and if these damn, primitive gods demanded some sort of blood sacrifice then he wasn't going to help them get it!

As the vessel descended into the meadow, the exhaust carpeted the ground. The basilisks crept around the edges of the trees, seeming entranced at the black smoke hissing from the sides of the ship. Jack gritted his teeth. Could there be a way to send that ship back up in the air?

Daine coughed. "That smells horrible," she whispered, stooping to lift her sputtering dragon. Jack glanced at her, and a feeling of fierce protectiveness swept through him so swiftly that he was almost winded.

Refugees could be dangerous, he thought uneasily.

"What is it, Jack?" Numair asked softly.

"They're refugees," Jack told him reluctantly, voice dark but truthful. "The writing on the side, that's Galactic standard. I can read it. It's the war they're running from, and their status." He swallowed. Red stood stiff and nervous beneath him, and he hoped that the horse would not try to bolt again.

"Refugees?" Alanna muttered. "They don't look like refugees to me. Daine, what are the basilisks doing?"

"It's the smoke," Daine replied, just as quiet. Her voice had a hypnotic, dreamy quality to it that made Jack feel vaguely uneasy. "It's got little bits of stone in it. It brought them here, from miles and miles away—it came from the ship, but they've known it was coming for so long…" Kitten whistled softly.

"It must be like a drug," Jack murmured, watching the ship tremble in the air. Slowly, ponderously, it started to descend again, grating like metal on stone. Three metal struts extended from the base of the ship as it lowered itself gracelessly, the pollution swirling around them as they touched the ground. Someone within turned off the anti-gravity, or whatever their equivalent was, because there was a shuddering, groaning noise as the ship's weight came to rest on the struts. Jack turned back to the others.

"Stay here," he ordered, and held up a hand when Alanna made to protest. "You don't speak Galactic standard," he told her firmly, "And I don't want to look threatening. If they hurt me, go back to your king and tell him they're here. No, _listen to me. _You will not be able to fight them; you _have_ to negotiate. If more than one person goes down to meet them, they'll think we're hostile. I want to help repair their ship and send them on their way."

That might have been a lie, and it might have been a truth. Jack didn't know himself. Was he going to do the job, however unsavory it was?

It might be better if he could patch up their ship, he thought grimly. Do it fast, get them out of here, and then maybe get a few spare parts out of the deal. They might have the technology to fix his wrist strap, although he doubted it.

There was a sudden crash of thunder from nowhere and they all started. Jack scowled, knowing exactly what the sound meant. "Your gods want me to kill them," he told his friends flatly. "But I don't like to hurt civilians. I'll be right back. _Stay here!_"

"Come back quickly," Numair urged, and Alanna and Daine looked at him incredulously.

"You're just going to let him go?" Alanna demanded heatedly.

"Alanna," Numair's voice was soft, "It doesn't look alive to my magical vision. I can't even see their life-forces, or the forces that make the ship work. Look at it!"

"I can't feel it either," Daine said uneasily. "They have animals with them, but I can't—" She bit her lip. "They feel wrong, and I can't hear them. I just—I just know they're there. They feel like—like worms or beetles. I can't talk to them."

Kitten chattered in agreement, turning slightly pink with fear.

"You're out of your depth," Jack told them gently, and he felt a reluctant affection for them, all of them, these primitive people. "I'm going to go talk to them. Daine, I don't know if this smoke will harm the basilisks."

"I couldn't stop them if I wanted to," Daine admitted.

"Go," Alanna ordered after a moment. "But hurry back!"

Jack nodded and slipped off Red, who nickered gratefully. The horse very obviously did not want to go. Jack squared his shoulders and walked out to the meadow. The rusty eyes of the drugged basilisks followed him dully as the pollution swirled around his feet.

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	21. Chapter 21

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_--Listen to the sound.—_

_--Smell the smoke.—_

_--Can you hear it?—_

_--Never heard it.—_

_--Smells sssssoo good.—_

Daine was starting to get dizzy. The basilisks crept closer to the great metal vessel that had descended from the sky, and they whispered and sang as they moved. Their gray bodies swirled the smoke, so that it rose and fell in long, gray wisps. Even Tkaa, who burned brightest for Daine because she knew him well, seemed entranced. She swayed a little.

Stop listening to them, Cloud told her firmly, closing her teeth onto Daine's shoulder. The wildmage shook her head and leaned on her pony, the solid warmth bringing her back to the present. Kitten pressed closer in her arms. She whistled softly, scales a bright, fearful magenta.

You're right, Daine told Cloud silently. Thank you.

He's going to get hurt, Red moaned, tossing his head nervously. The gelding gave a very small, high-pitched whinny, and it took Daine a moment to remember what he was talking about. She shook herself and looked out to see Jack walking through the smoke on the ground. It curled in gray eddies around his flapping coat. He's going to get killed! Red cried.

He can't get killed, Spots assured him. He's immortal, remember?

It still hurts to die, Red shot back anxiously. Jack shouldn't hurt.

Daine leaned heavily on Cloud, utterly overwhelmed.

"Sweet?" Numair slid from Spots' back and come over to brace her arm. "You're swaying." She blinked at him, feeling woozy. She loved him, Daine thought indistinctly. Beloved Numair, her mate. Why was he looking at her like that?

He'd asked a question, hadn't he? She should probably say something.

"The basilisks," Daine muttered, pushing away from Cloud to lean on his chest. He was warm and solid, and he anchored her back into reality. "They're singing, or chanting or something. It's like they're under a spell." Numair wrapped his arms protectively around her and kissed her hair softly. Daine tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes, concentrating on him rather than the basilisks' eerie, whispering chanting. Soap and spices, she thought contentedly. He smelled like soap and spices.

"I don't like this," Daine heard Alanna say darkly. "I don't like this at all."

"Nor do I," Numair agreed softly. "But Jack's right. We _are_ out of our depth. I wouldn't even know—" his voice faded. Daine opened her eyes and looked up.

The meadow was carpeted in the strange fog, and it swirled around Jack's calves. He'd stopped walking, Daine thought dreamily. He'd reached the vessel. She let her eyes trail up the huge, metal machine and pressed against Numair, trying to concentrate on the real world.

His arms tightened around her, and she watched as long metal panel descended from the side of the great, oblong metal vessel to the ground.

"It _is_ like a ship," Numair murmured, fascinated. "It's like they're docking."

"What's—" Alanna started, but even she was stunned into silence when the creature stepped out onto the grass.

---

* * *

---

Nepthalae. Something angry and sad twisted in Jack's heart as he recognized the species on sight. They were Nepthalae, one of the most peaceful races to have ever graced the Milky Way Galaxy. Their history was fraught with flight from wars or slavery or things equally horrible.

Jack remembered. It had been a while, but he remembered learning about them, once. He'd thought they were beautiful. Now, standing before one, he realized that the pictures and holograms hadn't done them justice.

Yellow and slender, almost humanoid but not quite, the man that was clearly the leader of the people inside stepped hesitantly onto the grass. He caught sight of Jack and froze, looking scared.

"Ma'hara," Jack said softly, a universal greeting. Hopefully, the other spoke Galactic standard, although there was a translation device in Jack's wrist strap.

The man relaxed. "Ha'drede," he replied in the same language. "Can you tell me where we've landed, friend? Our journey was long and dangerous, and our ship has failed us. We flee from a war, and my people are frightened and hungry." Galactic standard had a special verb tense for peace treaties. The alien was using that tense, voice formal and wary.

Jack sighed. "I fear you are not welcome here, friend," he replied, as formally as he could, using the same verb tense. Calling the other a friend was important in this sort of greeting – it was an immediate reassurance to the clearly anxious leader. "The land to which you have come is hostile, although I assure you that I am not. This place is quite primitive, and unwilling to accept strangers. I beg you: leave now, before your people are hurt." Or before I'm forced to hurt you, he thought grimly, and very firmly did not allow himself to shift his weight and show his unease.

The Nepthalam scratched the ground with one clawed toe nervously. "We have no fuel; even our emergency power cells are down," he said urgently, "our people were under attack. We barely made it here. We will leave as soon as we can." The poor man's voice had turned desperate. "But our ship is falling to pieces. I don't think it can fly us out of this atmosphere, let alone to another planet."

This is a disaster, Jack thought with a sinking feeling in his gut. God, but he did not want more innocent blood on his hands! "I'll see what I can do to help you," he told the man honestly, abandoning the formalities "Although you really won't find the parts here. I'm stranded here too, you see, but I have the benefit of looking like the inhabitants, so I can blend in."

There was a hiss behind him, and Jack turned. The Nepthalam leader gave a small yip of alarm.

Those basilisks had started to mill through the smoke carpeting the grass. They inched closer and closer to the ship, serpentine noses sniffing, jaws opening and closing, revealing two sharp teeth in the front and several grinding teeth behind. Jack turned. "Daine, call them off!" he shouted to the edge of the clearing, where he could see the others watching him wide eyed. The Nepthalam leader took a hesitant, frightened step away from the Immortals.

"I can't!" Daine shouted back. Her voice wavered alarmingly. Anxiously, Jack looked her up and down, but she seemed secure where she was standing in Numair's arms. "They won't listen to me!"

Jack cursed very quietly. He turned back to the leader. "Can you turn your engines off?" he asked. "I think these creatures are attracted to the exhaust."

The other man nodded. He looked behind and shouted to the people within the ship. There was a scramble and a scuffle, and then a deep whirring noise of something powering down. "I don't know if we'll be able to turn it back on again," the alien admitted, sounding worried.

"I'll help you," Jack told him, unsure whether or not he was lying and quietly hating himself for it. "I'll try. My companions and I, we'll get you back up into the air, alright? You really can't stay here, though. They won't welcome outsiders."

The leader nodded. "I understand. Do you have a title?"

"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack said ruefully. "And you, friend?"

"Sardon Schuan. Thank you, Captain."

"Don't thank me," Jack muttered bitterly, "Not yet." He turned back to the edge of the clearing. "It's alright," he called to his friends. "They're peaceful. Come meet the neighbors!"

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The creature was yellowish and thin, taller than Jack. It had a long neck, topped with a head like a featherless bird, its beak long, curving and graceful. Its garb was black, and a thin yellow tail curled and uncurled anxiously at its knees. Three-toed feet scratched nervously at the grass. Brown shoes covered the pads of the creature's feet, but cut off to leave the long, yellow toes to feel the ground.

Numair glanced down at Daine uneasily. She was clutching Kitten and leaning into his chest, eyes closed as if asleep. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Are you alright, love?" he asked, and she shook herself, staggering as though to walk away and breaking out of his arms. Numair caught her before she fell. "Magelet!"

"I'm fine. I'm fine," she repeated shakily. "The basilisks keep—keep singing, is all. No, I can't hear the aliens. We should go over."

"Singing?" Alanna asked, but Numair glanced at her and shook his head. They needed to keep Daine grounded, and asking about the basilisks seemed like a bad idea.

"Can you walk?" Numair asked her instead.

Daine nodded and smiled at him shakily before staggering back to Cloud and clambering up. Kitten clung to her, turning pinker and pinker with fright. Numair bit his lip anxiously, but hoisted himself back onto Spots. His painted gelding snorted and tossed his head. Darkmoon huffed behind them, and Red whinnied quietly, following.

"The horses are terrified," Daine whispered softly. Numair smiled back at her nervously, eyes running up and down her form. She seemed more balanced on Cloud, but even still, he was afraid that she would fall. His eyes slid to Kitten, riding behind Daine. The young dragon clutched at her tunic, muttering unhappily, and Numair felt another burst on unease.

"They're not the only ones," he whispered back. They made their way slowly towards the ship, and the basilisks parted before them, watching with their dull, rusty eyes. Something was definitely wrong here. "They _have_ to be drugged," Numair muttered.

"They feel that way," Daine murmured, and he glanced at her again.

They walked slowly through the mist, which swirled quietly around the horses' hooves. Jack and that creature were standing at the foot of the vessel, and he smiled at them quickly when they approached.

"Dismount," their friend said as the yellow bird-thing beside him took a frightened step back. "You're intimidating him." He turned to the creature and said something else in a strange language. Hadn't Jack said that the thing on his wrist translated for him? Jack suddenly turned and beckoned to Red.

The dappled gelding snorted and tossed his head, a refusal if Numair ever saw one. The mage did not blame him in the slightest. He glanced at Daine, who was regarding Jack's horse seriously.

Numair dismounted quietly and watched Jack take his horse's reins very carefully. Red did not bolt, mostly due to Daine's silent reassurance, Numair was sure. Jack stroked the gelding's nose before turning back to the bird-like alien, which, after a moment of hesitation, stepped up and tentatively touched Red's cheek. The horse stood perfectly still and then pricked his ears forward. Numair saw Daine smile.

"What are they called, Jack?" Alanna whispered suddenly. Numair glanced at her. She was standing next to Darkmoon with one hand uncertainly on the hilt of her sword, the other on the horse's reins. Numair's eyes skipped over anxiously to Daine, who had slipped off Cloud. She leaned heavily on the pony's side, but she smiled when she saw him watching her. His stubborn magelet, he thought affectionately.

"Nepthalae," Jack replied, eyes on the alien, who had looked away from the horse and was now regarding Daine, Numair and Alanna. Numair watched the creature curiously, unable to hide it.

"They're one of the most peaceful races of the galaxy," Jack continued. "This tribe's fleeing from a war. Alanna, Daine, Numair, I'd like to introduce you to Sardon Schuan, their leader. _Sardon, dulesh nonakasrot m'falla: Alanna cuspah Lioness, tre Veralidaine Sarrasri cuspah Daine, tre Numair Salmalin._ Galactic standard doesn't have articles," he added to Alanna, and his voice would be offhand if he weren't standing so tensely. "So I can't really express that you're _the _Lioness, only that you're _called_ Lioness." Numair almost laughed and Jack's tone and his words, which were utterly irrelevant. Who cared? There were aliens from, not another realm, but another _world_ standing right there!

"I'm horribly offended, I'm sure," Alanna remarked, but her voice was filled with wonder. "Where are they from?"

Yes, Numair though, amazed, where were they from? What sort of a place could produce this creature, what kind of sky did it live under?

"Planet Desoe, but they're fleeing the wars of Malinb," Jack replied. "It's been a long journey, and they're hungry and scared. Their ship's broken," he explained. "I told them that I'd help them fix it, and then send them on their way. They can't stay here."

"The gods want them dead," Numair realized suddenly with a sinking feeling in his heart. Who could kill such a magnificent creature? "Why, if they're peaceful?" He looked past the leader and into the dark doorway, craning his neck to see what was inside the ship. He wondered how it worked.

"Because they can't control them," Daine said, voice was low and soft. Numair turned to her sharply, and saw Alanna do the same out of the corner of his eye.

"Sweet?" he asked, confused. She smiled sadly at him.

"They don't belong here," she continued unhappily. Her eyes were still filmy, Numair noted with alarm. "They can't stay, it'll—it'll upset the balance." Kitten, still in her arms and still looking frightened, nodded emphatically.

Jack sighed, and his posture slumped. He looked utterly defeated, as though he had the universe on his shoulders. "Yes. But I won't kill them. We're going to send them on their way." He swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Will you help me?"

That wasn't even a question that needed answering, Numair thought dryly. "Of course we will," he said derisively, and Daine smiled at him with such warmth that his heart gave a small, happy leap. "And tell your friends so as well." He tilted his head to the creature called Sardon.

Numair glanced at Alanna who nodded. Jack's eyes warmed gratefully and he turned to explain in that odd, lilting language. Sardon gave a ululating cry before bowing deeply.

The cry was echoed, and the five of them turned. The basilisks were drawing in thickly around the ship, although the pollution was starting the thin. Daine shook herself and stepped away from Cloud, clearly determined. Numair made a small, worried sound as she approached the basilisks.

Every serpentine head turned to her, and Numair shared an anxious glance with Alanna. Daine's power alarmed even him, sometimes.

"Tkaa!" Daine suddenly called aloud, and a long, thin gray body separated itself from the rest.

"Can I eat it?" the Immortal asked, voice slurred and slow. Numair frowned at Tkaa's eyes, dull and rusty, and he was struck again by how wrong that looked.

"Listen," Daine said quietly. "You can't eat it, and you can't stay here. This stuff in the air, it's drugging you—"

"We want more, little mortal," whispered another basilisk, coming up beside Tkaa. "Will you stand in our way?"

Numair felt a thrill of fear, and gathered his power, watching Daine protectively.

"Turn her to stone for her ignorance," hissed another, and Numair readied himself, the words of the spell on the tip of his tongue.

"No," Alanna whispered, and he turned when he felt a hand on his arm. "Daine has to do it. Not yet, Numair."

"What _is_ she doing?" Jack asked quietly, and Numair glanced from Alanna to Jack and back to the field of basilisks.

"I don't know," he said unhappily, and let his power die down. Alanna was right, though. Against this many of them, even he couldn't win.

"No." Tkaa's voice was suddenly stern and loud enough to catch Numair's attention. "She's—a friend." It sounded like it cost him great effort to speak.

"She denies us!" a basilisk shrieked, and Numair tensed uneasily.

"_No._" Tkaa turned his back on Daine and faced away from her, but as he turned Numair saw him shake his head, and he caught a glimpse of the basilisk's clear eyes. "She is right. We must leave." His friend held himself upright now, posture more sure.

There were hisses and snarls amongst the gathered basilisks, but Tkaa was firm. "We are not animals!" he called and, with much persuasion and not a little herding, he pushed the others back. Then he turned to Daine.

"Thank you," he said, eyes clear. "You were right. We should not remain here. I—I lost myself, in the smoke, and I'm sorry for it. We will leave now; this place is dangerous." He looked at Numair and Alanna and then his eyes slid to Jack. Numair was shocked to see the creature hiss suddenly and recoil before turning back to Daine. "I recommend that you kill these," the basilisk said darkly, gesturing to the ship. "They are poison. I do not suggest death lightly, as you know." He nodded once and turned to leave at a swift run.

"We're not killing them," Jack growled. The creature beside him shifted its weight, clearly confused. It didn't speak Common, Numair thought ruefully. There was no way he was going to aid in killing a creature that was clearly harmless.

"No," Daine agreed suddenly, "we're not." Numair nodded to himself and walked over to stand beside her. He laid a hand supportively on her shoulder. She turned and smiled at him.

"That was amazing, dearest," he murmured, and she shrugged.

"What can we do to help?" Alanna asked. Jack looked at her incredulously, and then he grinned.

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	22. Chapter 22

OKAY, as Alimac pointed out to me, I should have another disclaimer so here it is: All Torchwood characters belong to the BBC, and all Tortall characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The Nepthalae, however, are mine.

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Oh, it was a mistake, Jack thought giddily. It was a huge mistake to let these people get involved, but their support was very, very gratifying. He turned back to Sardon. "I need to see your mainframe," Jack told him. "I don't know what I can do about food. How many people do you have?"

Sardon shifted his weight, very obviously fearful. And who could blame him, in a strange world with strange people gabbling strange languages? It was a wonder he was speaking to Jack at all, rather than shooting at him. "A little over a hundred," Sardon replied. "Men, women and children. We are herbivores, but I do not know the plants here."

Jack felt a chill go down his spine. Of course there were children. Better not think of that. Focus on the task at hand, he told himself firmly_._ "Nor do I, to be honest," he replied, and then turned to Daine, who was curled under Numair's arm, as an idea struck him. "Listen," he told her, "They say they're herbivorous – they eat plants, but they don't know any of the plants here. Do you think you could help them identify a few that aren't poisonous? Then again—" he interrupted himself and spoke to Sardon in Galactic standard, "What's not poisonous to us might be deadly to you."

"We can run it through our scanners," Sardon replied easily. "We brought them for that purpose."

"Jack?" Alanna asked, not understanding the rest of the conversation as it was in another language. Numair had tightened his arms around Daine protectively. It was a pity his wrist strap didn't translate Galactic standard, Jack thought distractedly. The Time Agents who designed it assumed that the wearer could speak a few languages, Galactic standard being one of them.

"Okay," Jack replied, "Their body chemistry's different from ours, so what's safe for us might be deadly to them. They've got scanners, though, machines that will tell them what they can eat. Do you think you could lead a small party of them around the edges of the meadow, so they can gather some food? They're starving."

Daine nodded. "Of course."

Jack opened his mouth to say something along the lines of "good," when he really looked at her. Numair stood protectively next to Daine, hugging her close defensively. She was pale, and though she was standing up straight he realized how ill she had looked. Jack frowned.

"Are you up to it, Daine?" he asked again, gentling his voice. Daine was no Torchwood operative, he thought guiltily. She wasn't trained. "You were—"

Daine waved away his concern. "The basilisks were drugged by the smoke," she explained flatly. "There's no smoke, and they've left. I can barely feel it anymore, and the farther they get the better I'll feel. I'm fine, Jack."

"Sweet—" Numair protested, but she smiled at him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

"Really," she assured him and the mage sighed as she stepped from his arms.

"If you're sure," Jack said, and Daine nodded determinedly.

"Alright." Jack turned back to Sardon. "We can send out a small party with Daine." He beckoned her over and rested a hand on her shoulder. "She'll keep them safe; they're just going to go around the edges of the meadow, is that alright?"

Sardon nodded emphatically. "Yes, yes that would be wonderful. Thank your companion for me, please." He turned back to his ship and called. Five more Nepthalae came tumbling out, three of them obviously children. Jack tried very hard not to cringe at the sight of them. Daine glanced up at him when his fingers tightened on her shoulder. He smiled weakly down at her.

Sardon spoke swiftly to his people in his native language, which was not Galactic standard. Jack collected himself and fingered his wrist strap. He surreptitiously had it translate Sardon's words although Daine, not wearing it, could not hear.

"—on your best behavior. It is a great honor; you will gather for the tribe. If she threatens you, you are not to harm her; we are not equipped for battle. I want you to run back to the ship… we will see what we can do from there. Do not, under any circumstance, provoke her, are we clear?"

Jack turned off the translation circuit, feeling guilty for briefly doubting them. Sardon was sending children out, after all. If that wasn't a gesture of good will, he didn't know what was. He swallowed and told himself very firmly that panicking was not an option, and that he had to focus on the task at hand.

Wait, he thought with a sudden thrill of fear, speaking of children, where was Kitten? He swept his eyes away from the Nepthalae and frantically to Daine, who very clearly wasn't holding the dragon anymore. His voice hitched on a gasp as he scanned for the child, and relief flooded through him when he saw the dragon on Cloud's back, cowering next to the pony's mane. She must have crawled away when he wasn't looking. No children lost, he assured himself. Not yet. Jack turned back to Daine who was looking at him oddly. He spoke before she could ask him if he was alright.

"You won't be able to speak with them," he told her, and realized that his unease was poorly hidden when her eyes filled with concern. "But try to be polite. They're scared silly."

"That makes two of us, then," Daine said with a wry smile.

"Makes a bunch of us," Alanna muttered.

Jack smiled a little. "The smaller ones are children," he said. "It's a gesture of good will, even though I've repeatedly said that this place is hostile. Keep yourself armed; I don't want them eaten by any of your Immortals, alright?"

"I know how to protect a scouting party, Jack," Daine chided him gently.

"Captain Jack Harkness," Sardon said softly, and he and Daine turned. "I would like to introduce you to Maling Heron, my adviser, his son and daughter Heron Regon and Heron Farthon, my daughter Schuan Gering and my wife, Sardon Jalish."

"It is a pleasure," Jack replied with a small bow, and then quietly reintroduced the gathering party to Daine. She nodded and smiled as she met the eyes of each individual that Jack indicated. Daine was taking this very well for someone from such an isolated world, he thought proudly. He was about to warn her about bearing her teeth to them – they might interpret it as hostile – when Sardon Jalish clicked her beak at Daine in a way that seemed friendly. It seemed they understood the concept of a smile, Jack thought with vague surprise. That was odd, especially for a species with beaks rather than lips.

"Daine, where do you plan on taking them?" Jack asked her. "So I can tell him. Schuan Gering and Sardon Jalish are his daughter and wife – he's placing a great deal of trust in you." And me, he thought ruefully. People should stop placing trust in me.

"I'm going to take them just around the edges," Daine replied, gesturing a little. "Like you said."

"Yes, but _where_?" Jack specified. "Where are you starting, so he'll be able to glance over and see them?"

"Oh," Daine muttered, and looked out to the edge of the meadow thoughtfully.

"We'll start over there," Numair suggested, pointing directly in the line of sight of the ship, "And work our way around."

"No," Jack told him, a vague plan already formulating in his head. "Daine will. I need you here, Numair."

The mage looked ready to protest, but Jack cut him off. "If anyone's prepared to take a crash course in space travel, Numair, it's you. Your Gift might also be helpful. Alanna, you're Gifted as well?"

"You know the answer to that," she replied wryly. Jack gave her a half smile.

"You're right. Stupid question, sorry. We'll need you here, too." He turned back to Sardon and indicated where Daine would be going. Beckoning her over, Jack established a few simple hand motions to help with communication – _Come with me, good, danger, run_. Nodding, Daine smiled at the little party and gave them the "Come with me" motion. Hesitantly, and with many backward glances at their father and leader, they followed. Jack watched her go, a little nervous himself. Alanna caught his eye with a small smile, and together they glanced at Numair, who watched his lover walk away, a forlorn look on his face.

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As Daine walked over to Cloud, the Nepthalae remained far behind her, chattering nervously at each other. Kitten cheeped from where she was perched on the pony's back after she had decided that Daine was clutching her too tightly before. The Nepthalae party all fell silent, wide eyed. Cloud snorted.

I would like an explanation, please, the gray pony demanded crossly, although fear threaded her voice. Daine beckoned the Nepthalae, and they followed cautiously.

They're peaceful, she told Cloud silently. Their ship crashed and they're scared and hungry. They're grass-eaters, like you, so I'm showing them food. Don't bite them, please, they're terrified.

I see. Cloud pricked her ears forward, and walked toward the aliens. Kitten, on her back, shrieked in alarm. She leaped down before racing over to cower behind Daine. The Nepthalae watched the gray pony nervously. Wide eyed and chattering, they retreated when Cloud approached. Daine gave them signal for "good," although it didn't seem to help. They stopped fleeing and stood stock still, the children clutching the adults with obvious fear. Cloud walked up to the smallest one and bent down, gently nudging the creature with her soft nose.

The littlest one made a high pitched gurgling noise and, carefully, patted Cloud's cheek. The others soon clustered around the pony, stroking her and exclaiming to each other in their strange, trilling language. Daine smiled.

Thank you, she told Cloud.

I'm not a barbarian, Cloud shot back.

Daine gave the signal for "come with me" again and the Nepthalae followed, seeming more assured. One of the larger ones – Daine was guessing that it was Sardon's wife, although for the life of her she could not remember their strange names – touched her elbow. Daine looked over and smiled into the creature's eyes, and, in response, it clicked its beak and squeezed her arm. The children stayed close to Cloud.

Kitten, for her part, did not like them, and she made this quite clear. She shrilled angrily at Daine, and hissed whenever one of the aliens got too near. When she threatened to bite one of the children, Daine swooped in and grabbed her.

"What's gotten into you?" she demanded. The dragon chattered, turning an even deeper shade of pink.

"They're just as scared of you as you are of them," Daine told her firmly, "And you've got the advantage of being on your home ground. Imagine being in a scary place and having people you've never seen before trying to bite you!"

The dragon's scales turned gray around the edges. "So be nice," Daine scolded. When she tried to put the dragon down, however, Kitten screeched and clung on to her. She was trembling. The Nepthalae were watching with wide eyes, staying on the other side of Cloud. Daine sighed and resigned herself to holding the baby dragon.

It was so odd. Kitten was never this scared of something that Daine had labeled okay. Actually, Daine could not recall a time where Kitten was this scared of anything, period.

They reached the edge of the clearing and Daine pointed out several plants that she knew many of her animal friends liked. The Nepthalae took out their little metal machines and ran them over every leaf and twig that they could find. Signaling "Good!" at her, they carefully stripped several leaves off each plant and placed them into the baskets that they carried on their arms. One of them carried a small, dark box the emitted blue light. Daine was not sure what it did, but they all dropped leaves and even seeds inside it. It must be some kind of storage, she thought. Daine was touched to note that, while they took a fair amount of leaves, they always left enough for the plant to survive.

Having filled their baskets to the brim, they then began to pick out food for themselves. They very delicately plucked leaves in their beaks and, with a strange snapping sound, they would swallow. By the time they had made it around the meadow, they had had their fill and were beckoning Daine to "come with me" back to the ship. It was starting to get dark.

Daine, who had sat up on Cloud's back scanning for spidrens, smiled and followed them back. Jack was right, she thought. These people were about the gentlest she'd ever met. They were even careful not to kill their food. She couldn't think of _any_ animal that took the same courtesy, even herself.

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	23. Chapter 23

WOW. You guys are all awesome, you know that? AWESOME. Seriously, I couldn't believe it; I think that last chapter was the most positive response to a chapter I've gotten so far, especially for a chapter that I wasn't really happy with! THANK YOU all for your support, I really appreciate it. Seriously, I got back from my final and found all these wonderful reviews, and you guys just made my day.

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Numair watched Daine lead the creatures down to the edge of the meadow anxiously and frowned when he heard Kitten give a very loud shriek. That was—odd. He hesitated, wanting to go after them, but then glanced at Alanna. She gave him a tight smile and squeezed his arm.

"Daine's a big girl, Numair, she'll be fine," the knight soothed.

"Alright then." Jack clapped his hands, all business, and they turned to look at him. "Numair, you and I are going to go and check out the mainframe, which is the central computer. Alanna, I want you to take a tour of the ship and catalog any damages."

"How am I supposed to know what's damaged if I don't know what it's supposed to look like?" Alanna asked wryly, eying the metal vessel with mistrust.

"Sardon's going to give you a guide," Jack explained, indicating the alien standing beside him. "I want you to write down everything you see, and then you'll report back to me. I don't know how we can get the parts, but maybe we can get metal, or something." He turned to Sardon and began to chatter in that odd language. Another Nephalae – and Numair was distracted as he wondered to himself what the singular of Nepthalae was – came down and whispered with Sardon before walking up and nodding to Alanna. It had what looked like a clipboard and parchment and some strange equivalent to a quill in its hand.

"He has a schematic of the ship," Jack said. "You can just put a star next to the part that's broken. This is Demoth Jouron. He speaks Galactic standard, so I'll be able to understand what he tells you to write."

"Demoth Jouron," Alanna repeated, and the creature bowed, handing her the clipboard. Numair craned his neck, peering at the strange, bluish drawing on the impossibly thin parchment. The schematic for a ship meant to go between worlds, he mused with wonder and frank curiosity.

As with Daine, Jack established a few hand signals between Alanna and Demoth Jouron- _come with me, please repeat that, watch your step, careful_. He sent them off and turned to Numair.

"I don't even know what a computer _is_," Numair admitted sheepishly.

"Well, we'll teach you. Ready?" Jack smiled coyly and tilted his head. Sardon walked ahead and disappeared into the dark doorway, which led to the hull. "Close encounter of the third kind."

"What?" Numair followed when Jack beckoned him into the space ship. Jack chuckled.

"That's what they called it before conversations with aliens were a regular thing." He said easily, and beckoned Numair up the ramp and into the darkness beyond. "Welcome to the Nepthalae ship, Numair Salmalin."

Numair hardly heard him.

As he stepped inside the shadowed hull of the massive ship, the temperature dropped considerably. The entire thing, Numair realized, was made of sheets of metal. The top of the ship arched high above their heads, and steam hissed out from some of the walls. There were blinking lights on the great, curving sides. The rest of the Nepthalae clustered together in the center, looking afraid. There weren't very many of them, Numair mused, no more than a hundred, a hundred fifty _maybe_. Sardon stood up before Jack and spoke in a great booming voice; the others cheered when he finished, and he indicated Jack and Numair to follow him.

"What did he say?" Numair whispered.

"No idea," Jack replied. "That was their own language, not Galactic standard. We're in the hull; Sardon's taking us to engineering."

"Engineering?" The word was a familiar one, but Numair associated engineering with building castles and bridges, not flying space ships.

"The mainframe will be there," Jack explained.

Numair took a deep, steadying breath. The air was cool and it smelled odd, somehow heavy. "What's that smell?" he asked, distracted.

"Recycled air," Jack told him as they walked deeper into the ship. "The air that you breathe out is broken up into its components and then reintroduced back, so you can breathe it again. It does get a bit stale, after a while."

Numair stared at him, a grin of wonder growing on his face. "They can break up the air," he repeated, amazed. "Jack, I don't know how I'm going to help you," he admitted, looking around in delight. "I have no idea how any of this works."

"You don't need to," Jack replied, ducking under strings of metal that hung from the ceiling. The lights flickered on and off, casting odd, gray shadows on the metal walls. Sardon led them down a hall, and everything was much closer, now. Numair, taller than Jack, ducked as well. "I might need you to power a few things up. You're a smart guy – you might be able to make suggestions, even without knowing what any of this stuff does."

"I'll take your word for it," the mage said quietly.

They walked down and through dark twisted hallways with flickering, buzzing lights before reaching a long, thin and cramped room. The walls were metal, as they were everywhere else, and there were counters covered with little knobs and switches and blinking lights. White steam issued from under several of them, and most of the lights blinked a strange mauve color.

"Hmm," Jack murmured. He gestured to Numair, who followed cautiously. Sardon brought up the rear, chattering to Jack at a rapid speed. Jack walked up to a counter that looked central and, to Numair's surprise, he pulled the top off. Steam hissed out, shrouding him in a white cloud for a moment. Coughing, he waved it away.

"Numair," he called, and Numair walked over.

"Look," Jack started, gesturing beneath the panel. There were small strings of metal and more blinking lights. It looked very—very _something_, and Numair did not even have a word to describe it, let alone understand anything about it. "You see how the wires are burnt out?" He touched a melted strip of rubber with what looked like metal inside. "Can you repair some of these?"

_Wires. _Numair filed the word away. He frowned and, with a glance at Jack, reached inside the small compartment. The air within was warm and heavy, like the air above a fire recently doused. He fingered one of the things called wires thoughtfully.

"Maybe," he replied. "If I had a way to store some of my Gift. Delicate work like this means that I have to siphon some of it off somewhere else, or the whole thing melts." He could feel the power at the tips of his fingers, and knew it was too much. The whole place would blow, he thought ruefully, and was just about to suggest that Jack go get Alanna – her healing ability made her Gift more fine-tuned than his –when Jack interrupted.

"Well then," he said with a grin. "I think I can do that. Come here." He gestured Numair over to another panel. Chattering to Sardon, he opened that one as well.

"This is called a battery," Jack explained. "Or, at least twenty-first century Earth calls it a battery. The Nepthalae call it a power cell. It's emergency power for the ship – and it's almost drained. Could you boost it?"

Numair touched the smooth, curved metal and then smiled. "Now that I can do," he said.

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Alanna was having the weirdest time of her life, and she'd gone through some pretty weird times. Demoth Jouron was a patient sort, which was a good thing because Alanna wasn't.

They'd walked around the outside of the ship, Demoth giving her the names of things that were apparently broken. Alanna lost count of the times that she had to use the "repeat that" signal. He seemed amused, at least, if the twinkle in his eye was anything to go by.

When they finished with the outside, Alanna had run out of room to write. Demoth gave her the "come with me" signal and she followed him inside the ship, gasping in surprise when the temperature dropped. It was metal – the entire ship was metal, and she had not appreciated that until she stepped inside and saw the high, vaulted ceiling. She'd never seen so much metal in her life, and she'd learned to fight in a suit of armor.

Demoth handed her a new sheet, a schematic of the inside, and took her around the edges of things. She marked every pipe leaking steam and every hanging strip of metal. It would have been tedious, if the ship had not been simply amazing.

"I can't believe that this thing can fly," she murmured as Demoth indicated a fallen panel. He tilted his head at her voice, but she shrugged, unable to communicate the thought. He made a strange gurgling noise that Alanna assumed was a chuckle and moved on.

A few of the Nepthalae had crept out of the center of the great room in the front and were following them, chattering to Demoth and watching Alanna curiously with their blue, glassy eyes. It was unnerving, but there really wasn't anything that she could do about it, so she went about her business, reining in the urge to snap at them to back off.

A small creature that Alanna assumed was a child raced up to Demoth. He chattered, scolding, at the little one. It chirped back, and Demoth sighed ruefully before looking up at Alanna. He signaled "come with me" and Alanna followed dutifully, confused. They ended up just outside the ship, where Daine was standing holding Kitten, with Cloud, Spots, Darkmoon and Red beside them. Alanna noticed that night had fallen. Had she been working that long?

The children that had gone with Daine were yipping delightedly, racing up and down the ramp, handing out the leaves and grasses that they had plucked. Daine was watching them with a small smile on her face, although Kitten was still pink with fear. The little dragon was pressed tightly to Daine's chest, watching with wide eyes. Daine was letting her curl close, a hand comfortingly resting on her head. Kitten looked up at Alanna and cheeped a greeting, although her voice was small. Daine turned and caught sight of Alanna. She smiled and beckoned the Lioness over her armful of dragon.

"They're really lovely, aren't they?" she asked, indicating the aliens. Kitten muttered unhappily in her arms.

Alanna smiled at Daine's soft heart, despite Kit's worrying response. "I suppose they are," she said. "I didn't realize it was dark out already."

Daine shrugged. "I guess there's a lot of work. Have you seen Numair?"

Just as she said it, two familiar voices rose out of the dark ship's entrance. The four horses turned, ears pricked, and Daine's lips quirked in a grin. Alanna smiled at her friend, and turned to the entryway.

"So the entire thing is based off a _current?_" Numair was demanding. "How does 'on-off' translate into a command?"

Alanna's smile turned to a grin. Mages, honestly, they were like toddlers. Numair sounded like a child with a new toy.

Jack gave a long suffering sigh that was audible as they approached. "That'll take hours," he complained good-naturedly. "Can't you just accept that it does, and move on?"

"Yes, but I want to know _why_ it works." They both stepped out into the dusky light, Numair in the lead, looking back at an amused Jack. Alanna saw Daine's grin at the sight of her mage.

"There you are!" Daine exclaimed, walking up the ramp to join them. Numair's face, slightly gray with exertion, lit up at the sight of Daine. Dignity abandoned, he raced from Jack's side, down the ramp to reach her, then lifted her up and spun her around excitedly. Kitten dropped to the ramp with an indignant shriek and raced over to Alanna. The lady knight smiled indulgently at her and lifted the frightened dragon from the ground.

"Let Numair have his fun," she whispered, and the dragon huffed unhappily.

"Have you seen this place?" Numair was demanding enthusiastically, clutching Daine to him so just the tips of her toes touched the metal of the ramp, "It's amazing, absolutely stunning! They use electricity and chemicals to power it – Jack was just explaining the mainframe – and this gunpowder, it powers the whole ship, can you imagine? And it works the same way as it does in Jack's gun, just the same! It pushes out, and in space that translates to _forward—_"

"Numair, I don't think I understood a word of that," Alanna said wryly over Daine's giggles at his delight. She walked up the ramp to join them, smiling warmly at her friends. Numair set Daine down and Kitten immediately wriggled out of Alanna's arms to go to Daine's leg, begging to be picked up again.

"It's just astounding," Numair said, beaming at the both of them. "These people are amazing!" He took Daine's hand and pulled her down the ramp, Alanna and Jack following. Daine turned to scoop up her frightened dragon before letting Numair pull her away.

Jack met Alanna's eyes for a moment, chuckling at Numair's glee. "I _said_ you'd understand it." He walked over to greet his horse, laying a hand on Red's soft nose. Red whickered at him, lipping his sleeve. He really was sweet with Red, Alanna mused to herself. The fact that the two had clearly bonded in so short a time was surprising, even with Daine's help. It had taken Alanna years to get that sort of trust in Darkmoon, and she'd raised him from a foal.

Numair was hugging Daine close, sharing his joy. "It isn't that hard," he told Jack modestly, jolting Alanna out of her idle thoughts.

"We all knew you were a genius," Daine giggled, leaning on him and clutching Kitten to her chest. Alanna rolled her eyes with fond exasperation at Daine and Numair's public affection.

The dragon pressed into Daine, burying her head into her foster-mother's shoulder. Alanna looked at her in concern and was just about to ask Daine about her when Jack spoke.

"At any rate," he interrupted, turning from Red and looking at the beaming Numair indulgently, "It's gotten dark out, and I don't want our mage to exhaust himself."

Numair huffed. "I've gone for _days_—"

"Yes, and probably collapsed afterward, am I right?" He looked pointedly at Daine who nodded with a wry smile. "We can't afford that. If you rest in between, we'll probably get this done much faster and with fewer mistakes. We do still need to find these weevils, after all."

"We should make camp, then," Alanna agreed. Jack nodded.

"That would probably be best," he said.

Numair gave a sigh. "But if I just—"

"Numair, he's right," Daine told him, jostling him gently with her shoulder. "You'll think better with some sleep, and there's no immediate danger, is there?" She turned to Jack.

"I don't think so," Jack replied. Alanna heard the thread of uncertainty in his voice and she glanced at him sharply. He'd looked away though, watching the dark ship and the aliens inside.

Kitten muttered anxiously, and Daine hefted her in her arms. "He says there's no danger," she told the dragon, who whistled.

"Is she alright?" Alanna finally asked, and all eyes fell to the pink dragon.

Kitten pressed into Daine's chest, but she nodded reluctantly.

"She's just afraid, although I don't know why," Daine said, cuddling her.

"That's odd," Jack muttered to himself, sharp eyes on the dragon. There was something strange about him when he looked at Kitten, Daine was right, Alanna thought. Some sort of sadness, a weird sort of fear. Had he lost a child? The thought was almost too horrible to contemplate. Jack shook himself and went to speak with Sardon. Alanna watched him go thoughtfully before turning to her friends and leading them into the dusk to prepare camp.

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	24. Chapter 24

Daine was surprised when a gentle yellow hand held out the saddlebag from Cloud's back. Looking around, she saw that they had followers: the Nepthalae had disembarked as well, and were helping them build camp, under Jack's soft directions. Kitten wriggled from her arms and scampered down, helping shyly as well. The pink faded from her scales as she passed sticks to an alien trying to start a fire. Daine smiled proudly at her charge.

Camp was finished in record time, and with many thanks and soft trills, Jack sent the Nepthalae back onto their ship. Kitten, less nervous, bounded up to Daine, chattering excitedly because she had faced her fear. Daine scooped her up with a smile and they watched as the great metal hatch of the space ship closed slowly. The ship's inhabitants, safe on their vessel, settled in for the night, leaving the Tortallans to their own devices.

"That was unexpected," Alanna stated after a moment of silence.

"They're good people," Jack replied quietly. He sighed and poked at the fire, sending sparks to the sky, which had darkened into twilight. "I wish they hadn't crashed here."

_Daine! _Cloud whinnied suddenly in alarm before a horribly familiar voice said, "You're not the only one, dearie."

Kitten shrieked with fury and they turned.

"You!" Daine burst out.

The Graveyard Hag, the patron goddess of Carthak, was standing just on the edge of camp, leaning on her cane and watching Jack with one keen eye. The light of dusk cast her half in shadow, her hunched back a silhouette against the darkening sky. She took three steps toward them, so that the light from the fire could reveal her old, haggard face. "I told you we wanted them dead," she growled. "You did not fulfill your end of the bargain." The goddess frowned and scratched her chin. "You are a handsome thing, though, I'll give you that."

Jack's face hardened as he rose and walked around the fire, standing protectively in front of the Tortallans. Alanna raised her eyebrows at Daine, and they all stood up as well. Daine grabbed Kitten before the snarling dragon could reach the Hag, shushing her and holding her close. She jumped a little when she felt Numair rest a hand on her shoulder, but then leaned back into his support. The horses, not tethered, milled nervously around the edges of the firelight. Daine warned them to keep their distance, although Red whinnied anxiously.

"I'm not killing them," Jack stated firmly, eyes fixed on the Hag. "They're peaceful; I'm sending them on their way. If you want them gone faster, you will help me fix their ship."

Alanna, Daine and Numair gaped at him. Even Daine, who had been fair annoyed at the Hag in her time, had never taken that tone with her.

"They will go off into the stars," the Hag growled, leaning on her stick. "And they'll tell others of this place. Then they'll come back and upset the balance further. They must be destroyed."

"The _Nepthalae_?" Jack demanded incredulously, and laughed in the goddess' face. "They've barely got space travel. They'll settle somewhere else, and they'll be grateful for the help. They'll talk about your planet in legends, nothing more. They're harmless."

Kitten shrieked a warning. The Hag lunged with her staff, aiming to knock Jack on the head for his cheek. Their friend was too quick; he saw the blow coming and rolled swiftly out of the way. "Do not take that tone with me, immortal," the goddess snapped and her eyes flashed to Daine. "And control your dragon!"

Daine blinked, clamping a hand automatically over Kitten's muzzle. Did the Graveyard Hag just call Jack _immortal_? Daine glanced at Numair, who tugged his nose nervously back. Alanna's eyebrows had risen to her hairline. Yes, Daine thought in surprise, she had heard correctly. Kit muttered unhappily, struggling in Daine's grasp. The dragon didn't seem surprised at this revelation, Daine noticed with a frown.

"Look what I've found for you, wandering in the dark," the Hag continued, her gruff voice soft and tempting as she watched Jack. "Call it a bargaining piece. Kill them now, and we'll call it favor number two. He's a looker, and the deal's more than generous." She waved her staff.

"I told you," Jack gritted, glaring, "I won't—"and then, as he saw what was behind the Hag, his voice caught in his throat, and the only sound that emerged was a shocked croak.

A dark haired man in strange clothing was suddenly standing there. His face was soft and young, and pale eyes widened in surprise. He blinked once, looking confused. The man was wearing a shirt of the same make as Jack, although he wore white and covered it with some kind of sleeveless gray garment. There was a piece of blue cloth tied neatly around his neck and then tucked inside the v of the gray sleeveless thing over his shirt. His eyebrows had ridden up to his forehead.

"You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding." His accent was pronounced although Daine could not place it, voice dry and incredulous with just a touch of sarcasm. He looked left and right, disbelieving.

"_Ianto?_" Jack's face had gone slack. He looked like he'd been dying of thirst, and suddenly found an oasis in a desert; he looked like he had found his heart's desire. "Ianto!"

Daine and Numair both caught their breath, recognizing the name.

Oh, no, Red said quietly.

"_Jack?_" The young man breathed, composure melting away, eyes locking on their friend. The man called Ianto tried to step around the goddess, but the Graveyard Hag flung out an arm, stopping him. He blinked at her, coming up short.

"Not yet, dearie," she growled, and turned back to Jack, while the man she blocked looked vaguely affronted. "We can make it better, Captain Harkness," she said, and her gravelly voice was soft and persuasive. "We can bring them back. All of them."

Daine found her voice as fury on behalf of her friend rose in her chest. "You leave him alone!" she shouted, hand still clasped around Kitten's muzzle, although the dragon had turned purple with outrage. "Don't listen to her, Jack, it isn't permanent. The things she brings back to life don't always stay that way."

"Daine," Numair gasped in horror at her impertinence. His hand tightened in alarm on her shoulder and Daine shot him a fierce look.

"If you weren't a godborn, I'd kill you for that," the Graveyard Hag said offhandedly, not taking her eyes of Jack. "As it is, I might take your lover instead. Your Lindhall Reed's little beast remained, did it not? It's the choice of the soul, no one else's."

Daine stood protectively in front of Numair, just as Jack's Ianto remarked very quietly, "Don't I have any say in this?"

"Ianto," Jack whispered painfully, as though unable to say anything else. He looked like his heart had broken all over again. Suddenly he shook himself, as though remembering where he was and why the other was standing there. Jack jerked his attention to the Hag. "What have you done?" he snarled furiously, voice rising, "What have you _done_ to him! Your Black God said that you couldn't touch the dead of my world. What the _hell_ have you done?"

The Graveyard Hag smiled smugly, the twilight of early night glinting off her face strangely.

"She said your name," Ianto answered dreamily, and Jack's eyes locked back onto him. "I heard it, so I followed. I thought you might've finally died. I looked for you, you know. I thought… in the spaces between, before you woke up each time. I might be able to see you."

Jack looked like someone had stabbed him. "Ianto, I'm sorry, I—"

"This isn't fair, goddess," Alanna broke in quietly. Daine glanced at her.

"It was never a question of fairness, Lioness," the Hag told her sharply. "It was a question of—"

"Of manipulation!" Jack snapped suddenly, wrenching his eyes off Ianto and back to the Graveyard Hag.

"Do not interrupt me, immortal—"

"Ianto, they want me to kill," Jack cried, turning back desperately to the man at the Hag's side. "They want me to kill a hundred civilians: men, women and children—not human, but not—"

"Then don't do it," Ianto interrupted fiercely, and Daine decided then and there that she liked him, even just having seen him. "Don't listen to her, Jack."

"How _dare _you?" the Hag snarled, spinning to face Ianto. "How _dare_ you defy me—"

"I'm not in your jurisdiction," Ianto told her primly, eyes steely, determined and just a little bit smug. "I came here of my own free will, and I can leave of it as well." He turned back to Jack. "I love you. I'm sorry I left." He started to fade.

"I miss you," Jack whispered miserably. "I'm sorry, I—I—"

"It was never your fault, Jack. I'll look—" Ianto started, but he disappeared before he could finish.

"Don't," Jack choked to the empty space where Ianto had been standing.

"Well," the Hag scowled. "Isn't this touching."

Jack whirled. His eyes, trailing tears, flamed with fury. "_Leave,_" he snarled lowly.

"How dare you—"

"_I SAID, LEAVE!_" Jack bellowed. "I am _not_ dealing with meddling gods until I have these people back up in space! And you, _you_," now he advanced upon the Hag, murder in his eyes, "have lost your right to speak to me. I'm talking to Owen, or nobody at all, _IS THAT CLEAR?_"

"You have no power here," the Hag growled, and Jack drew his revolver furiously.

"Wanna bet?" he spat. "You wanna fight a man who can't die? Seriously? You may be a god, but let me tell you something; fighting me is the _worst_ idea you could possibly have." His finger rubbed against the back of the weapon, pulling some kind of lever, and Daine heard it creak ominously.

"His soul will rot in Chaos!" screeched the Hag, and she vanished with a snap.

There was a silence. Jack took a breath that hitched in his throat. It sounded like a thunderclap, and Daine was beside him in an instant.

"Jack," she breathed, "Are you—"

"No," the reply was quiet, and Jack's voice cracked. "No, I'm not alright." His eyes were wide and shocked, and his hands shook when he tucked his revolver away.

"Oh, Jack," Numair whispered, coming over as well. "Jack, I'm so—"

"Don't say you're sorry," Jack spat, whirling on them. The fire glinted off the tears on his cheeks, and his blue eyes looked mad in the starlight. "Don't you dare." Violent tremors had spread from his hands, and he looked as though he was on the verge of collapse.

"He was your lover." Alanna's voice was quiet, more of a statement than a question. Daine blinked in surprise. She glanced at Alanna, briefly perplexed that her friend would come to such a conclusion, but then Jack's breath hitched and caught, and Daine knew an affirmative when she heard one.

"He won't really rot in Chaos," Daine assured him, shoving her vague confusion aside and trying to tug Jack closer to the warmth of the fire. The man was like a stone; he would not move, except for the trembling that racked his body. "She really doesn't have control over him."

"Ch-chaos would be better," Jack gasped, relenting when Alanna and Numair joined Daine's gentle persuasion. "Then what he gets at home."

"Don't say that," Alanna murmured as she guided him to sit down. "You don't know that."

"Yes I do," Jack whispered brokenly, slumping to the ground. "I really, really do."

"She called you immortal," Daine changed the subject quietly, rubbing his arm. Jack gasped a bark of bitter laughter, although he leaned into the reassuring touch.

"Yes," he choked. "She did."

"You come back," Numair murmured, half-disbelieving, and Daine remembered Ianto's words. Jack had called himself a man who couldn't die, hadn't he? She watched his face as Numair asked him, "You come back each time you're killed?"

Jack nodded wordlessly, wiping his eyes.

"That must hurt," Daine said sympathetically, believing him without questioning. Cloud had been saying as much from the moment they had met him, and this made more sense than it didn't. He must've come back to life when that spidren bit him when they met. Had that only been a few weeks ago? It felt like forever.

Jack huffed a little, laughter that sounded hysterical. "Yes," he told her. "Yes, it does."

"Who was he, Jack?" Alanna asked quietly. "He was yours, but who was he?"

Daine shot her a glance. This was delicate territory, and she was shocked when Jack spoke, words drawn from him with great reluctance.

"He was—he used to work for me. He was part of—of _Torchwood_." His breath hitched at the title, and Daine wondered if Torchwood was this place where Jack had worked, this place that he had loved. "Ianto made the best cup of coffee I've ever had, and he was loyal to a fault." Jack swallowed, his speech halting. "He helped me catch that pterodactyl, and we used to hunt weevils together late at night. His first field mission, he— he was _Ianto_, and in the end he became everything. That wasn't supposed to happen. I begged them not to kill him," he whispered. "But they didn't care."

"Who?" Numair asked gently.

Jack did not reply. He just looked down into his lap and sighed.

There was a short silence, which Kitten interrupted. She wriggled out of Daine's grasp and made her way over to Jack. Sitting up in front of him, scales gray with sympathy, she cheeped. The man—no, Daine thought, the immortal man—choked on a sob when he saw her. He whispered something that sounded like "I'm sorry," but Daine couldn't be sure.

"She knew," Numair said quietly, and Daine turned to him. "She knew you were immortal. That's why she likes you, isn't it?"

Daine blinked and looked down at her charge. "Is this true, Kit?"

The dragon shrugged and turned back to Numair. She huffed a little and then squawked before climbing into Jack's lap. Kit curled up there like a cat and began to croon very softly. Jack sighed and ran a finger between her small wings.

"Maybe," he mumbled. The dragon's head shot up and she shook it. Jack's eyebrows rose. "It helped," he pointed out. Kitten cocked her head and then nodded after a moment. "What else do you know?" Jack asked her, his blue eyes miserable. He looked like he was waiting for a killing blow, Daine thought uneasily, and rested a supportive hand on his shoulder.

The dragon looked at him, and then looked at Daine. She tilted her head back and made a sound like a howling wolf.

"Bad Wolf," Alanna whispered, and Jack's head shot up, dislodging Daine's hand. Clearly, he had not been expecting that.

"What about it?" he demanded harshly, defensively.

"I keep on dreaming about her," Daine told him softly.

"That's impossible," Jack snapped, visibly drawing his shields up around himself. Daine shrugged.

"Cloud said you were a wolf," she continued, keeping her voice soft and trying to placate him with a hand on his arm. "Only she called you the Lone Wolf, the cub who is not a cub – the Bad Wolf's cub."

Jack stared at her and then turned his head to the gray pony, grazing innocently just outside the ring of firelight. "She made me," he said flatly after a moment, eyes unfocused as he looked into the night as though at something impossibly far away, "into a fixed point in time and space." Jack's voice had turned bitter, and Daine did not understand what that could mean. The Bad Wolf made him immortal?

"Who was she?" Numair asked, and Jack fixed him with burning eyes.

"Rose Tyler," he said lowly. "The Doctor's Rose. She looked into the heart of the Doctor's ship, absorbed the power of the Time Vortex and brought me back to life—only she did it permanently. They both left me behind. The Doctor could not _bear_ to be around me. That's all I know." His voice had twisted with a long accepted injustice, with hurt buried deep. Jack looked away.

Alanna, for her part, looked perplexed. Jack seemed unwilling to say any more, as he rose, placed a protesting Kitten on the ground, and walked over to Red. "I'm going for a walk," he announced. "Please don't follow me."

Daine stood as well, but to her shock, Red turned to face her. No, he said. Do not come. We will be fine.

Blinking, she sat back down.

"Daine?" Alanna asked. She'd stood as well, but Daine gestured her to sit.

"Red said to leave him alone," Daine replied quietly, watching man and horse walk away from the firelight. "Horse Lords," she whispered after a moment. There wasn't really anything else to add.

"Yes," Numair agreed, and they watched Jack fade into the night.

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MASSIVE A/N ABOUT THIS CHAPTER:

For those of you who don't know Torchwood, Jack and Ianto really were lovers; it's canon. So there! During Ianto's death scene in Children of Earth, he tells Jack, "I love you," and Jack says, "Don't." And then he begs Ianto to "Stay with me," and finally "Don't go," in a very, very heartbreaking scene that had me bawling. I wanted to echo that, just a little, here. Because, for all that I am bitter about Ianto's death, that scene was beautifully done.

About Daine's reaction to Jack having loved another man: this was very, very carefully thought out, even if it's only a few lines. I'm sure she was raised, in her little town, to know for certain that little girls grow up to marry whoever their fathers say that they marry, and then go to live with their husbands. The same goes for little boys, only in reverse. That is the way of her world, and she would have no reason to question it. At thirteen, her mother is killed, and she gets to Tortall at fourteen, during which a war happens. Her worldview is not challenged, mostly because she is out and about and too busy to come across anyone who would challenge it. Thus, when confronted with a m/m relationship, her first reaction is confusion, because such a thing simply doesn't fit into her worldview. Daine is very practical; she's not going to dispute things she believed as facts when she grew up, especially if she's worried about other things, like wars and Immortals. But she's pretty open to different people and in the end she only sees her friend in pain.

Anyway, that's why Daine reacts the way she does. This AN is way too long, so if you're interested on why I think Alanna would figure it out, or Numair's response, say so in your review and I'll tell you. I love discussion about characters (if you couldn't tell haha), so don't worry about offending me or anything!

For those of you who know Torchwood, you'll also note that Steven was not even mentioned here. This is because Jack still can't bring himself to think about his grandson, much less explain what happened. He also hasn't been directly confronted about it; he's still trying to forget. Jack tends not to say anything unless he absolutely has to. Ianto appears before him; he must explain. The Hag calls him immortal; he must explain. Everyone knows about Bad Wolf; he must explain. Nothing about Steven, though, and no confrontation, so he's not saying anything. It still hurts too much.

Also, you'll notice that Jack STILL didn't tell Ianto that he loves him. This is because Jack is a pain in the butt, and getting him to admit his emotions is like pulling teeth.


	25. Chapter 25

You guys rock, thanks so much for all your wonderful reviews!

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"I want to leave," Jack told Red the moment they were out of earshot. The dappled gelding regarded him with one soft brown eye.

"But if I leave," Jack continued despondently, "these gods will destroy the Nepthalae. Actually, if I stay they'll still probably do it. Oh, _hell_."

Red sighed deeply and rested his nose just above Jack's collarbone. Jack stopped walking and looked up at his horse. Red watched him calmly from his shoulder, nipping lightly at the stripes of his coat. One black edged ear twitched and Jack smiled wistfully at his gelding, stepping back and patting a large, gray cheek. Red tossed up his head and then knelt, rolling away from Jack, scratching his back in the grass before coming to rest on his side, facing him. Jack watched him with a small smile – horses were meant to have their feet on the ground, not in the air, and the dappled gelding looked quite ridiculous.

"You've got the right idea, I think," Jack told his horse wryly and sat down next to him. The grass was cool and slightly damp from the night, dew just starting to settle. Red inched up and offered his shoulder, curling his muscular neck around so that his head rested by Jack's elbow, his shoulder blade at Jack's back. Jack leaned into the inviting warmth. His gelding turned to face him quietly, and Jack patted his nose thoughtfully, a deep seated calm settling over his earlier grief like fresh snow. Red made things simple, Jack thought ruefully.

"The stars are bright tonight," he said after a moment, tone hushed. "They've been bright every night. It probably has something to do with the Gates being open."

Red huffed at him, and there was a silence. The dappled gray hair radiated warmth, and Jack rested a hand between the gelding's ears, leaning his head back onto the horse's withers.

"What am I to do, Red?" he asked the horse quietly. Red huffed and Jack closed his eyes with an unhappy smile.

He didn't realize that he had fallen asleep until something whacked him on the head, hard.

"Ow!" he complained, looking up and squinting in the sudden, bright sunlight. Owen was holding a piece of plastic from the rubble of Torchwood Three. It was high noon in Jack's dream-version of Cardiff, and he was leaning on a rock tossed up from the crater of the destroyed Hub.

"Idiot!" Owen seethed, whacking Jack again with the malformed lump of blue plastic. "Moron! Dimwit! What the fuck were you _thinking_?"

"What was_ I_ thinking?" Jack spat, rising to his feet and making to grab the plastic out of Owen's hands. He missed. "What are _you_ thinking? You want me to kill them?"

Owen tossed his piece of plastic away and paced, swiftly back and forth in front of the smoking crater of Jack's nightmares. "I don't know. I don't know."

"She had Ianto, Owen," Jack told him desperately.

"Don't even start with me, Harkness," Owen snapped, still pacing.

"But how did she find him?" Jack asked the general air, moving to pace beside Owen. The medic stopped him short.

"Forget the teaboy for a second," he cried, exasperated, and Jack's patience thinned.

"Answer the question," he said lowly, telling himself firmly that provoking rash Owen to fight would be a very bad idea, and also quite unproductive.

"Do I look like I'd know?" Owen sneered.

"From where I'm standing? Yes," Jack snapped.

Owen deflated. "Well, I don't," he said, suddenly bitter. "Anyway. I'm here to tell you that they're _pissed_." He jerked his head upwards, clearly indicating the gods.

"Yeah, like I needed you to tell me that," Jack replied petulantly, hopping up to sit on a massive upturned stone that likely used to be part of the sidewalk. Owen regarded him for a moment.

"You were in love with him." It wasn't a question. Jack glared at his friend.

"None of your business." Like he was really going to talk about Ianto with Owen, of all people, Jack thought sourly.

"Yeah, it is my business," Owen sneered. Jack wondered abstractly to himself why the hell Owen cared. He hadn't even _liked_ Ianto. "I was there, remember? Both of you shagging like rabbits, I couldn't've missed it. Well? Were you?"

"I'm tired of people asking me this," Jack ground out, eyes prickling. He looked down at his knees and took a deep, steadying breath. _Calm. _Stay calm, and do not think of the time Ianto had flown off the handle because Owen had tracked alien blood all over the Hub, looking for a specific file.

"_And who do you think has to clean this up? I have an idea, Doctor Harper. Why don't we stay in our playpen, like a good little boy, instead of tracking Malakaxian blood all—over—the sodding—Hub!"_

The memory whispered like a breeze through Jack's dreamscape. He swallowed.

There was a silence.

"Shit." Owen hopped up to sit next to him on the upturned piece of rubble, eyes bright with something that, if Jack hadn't known better, looked like remorse. "Sorry."

"Yeah," Jack rasped, not meeting his eyes. "Me too."

There was another awkward silence. Owen wasn't really the one to go to with troubles of the heart, Jack thought wryly. "If that goddess brings Tosh next," he started, and was gratified to hear Owen's breath catch, "should I send her your best?"

"That was low, Harkness," Owen growled.

"Well, lord knows that Ianto's not going to respond when she calls again," Jack replied bitterly.

"I don't know what to tell you," Owen declared after another moment's silence. "They want those Nepthalae dead, but you might be able to appeal to a few of them. Screw Mithros, because he's a war-god—I'd say talk to Alanna's Goddess." He gave a little nod. "That's your best bet. Or my mate Gainel, actually, although fat lotta good he'll do. Veralidaine's parents might help you, too."

"I can't believe you're talking to me about gods with a straight face," Jack replied, deadpan, although he was grateful for the subject change. Owen scowled.

"Yeah, well, when they call you to council you start to take them seriously," Owen scoffed, although he also seemed grateful for the subject change. "Alanna's Goddess," he continued,  
"Veralidaine's parents."

"Since when are Daine's parents gods?" Jack asked, thrown for a moment. Owen shrugged.

"Minor gods. Northern god of the hunt, and goddess of childbirth. Weiryn and the Green Lady."

"Oh," Jack muttered, for lack of anything else to say. "How do I contact them?"

Owen sneered at him. "Well, since you refused to talk to anyone, you don't. I do. Shall I?" He gestured dramatically with a hand and Jack rolled his eyes.

"By all means," he mocked.

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"You are tiny. I can see the whole of Time and Space—every single atom of your existence, and I divide them."

The Bad Wolf, the golden goddess with streaming eyes, apparently called Rose Tyler, raised her hand. Daine turned.

She was on a space ship of some kind, and there was a wall with a moving picture, although she could not quite make out what the creature in the picture was; only that Rose Tyler was killing it.

_Rose, you've done it, now stop. Just let go._

Daine turned left and right, but she could not see the speaker. She would, however, have bet her life that it was Jack's Doctor, the man who loved Rose, but was too foolish to do anything about it.

"How can I let go of this?" Rose asked, voice distracted and, somehow, terrifying. "I bring life."

There was a whisper from somewhere and nowhere and Daine knew, for no reason but without the shadow of a doubt, that with one breath she'd brought permanent life to Jack Harkness.

"But that's wrong!" Daine accused. "You can't control life and death!"

"But I can," the Bad Wolf replied simply, and she turned her head so glowing eyes locked on Daine's face, truly looking at her for the first time. Daine suddenly felt a thrill of fear, but the Bad Wolf continued speaking. "The Sun and the Moon. The Day and the Night… but why do they hurt?"

The dream faded abruptly and Daine found herself sitting bolt upright in her bedroll, breathing hard. Suddenly, she knew the answer.

_I can see all of Time and Space._

Rose Tyler had brought Jack back to life. She _kept on _bringing Jack back to life. She could see all of time and space in that moment, just that moment—that's why the dream kept on repeating! Daine was seeing parts of the same moment, broken up, over and over again, because that was all that existed for this Bad Wolf. That moment, projected through all of time and space.

"My head is killing me," Daine muttered.

"Love?" Numair's voice was drowsy. She looked down into sleepy dark eyes, jostled awake by her movement. She grinned and ran a hand through his soft, unbound dark hair with delighted affection. He hummed and closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. Daine giggled but shook his shoulder, not wanting him to go back to sleep. The black eyes opened again and Numair gave her a wounded look, clearly wanting to go back to sleep. Daine's grin widened.

"Numair, I figured it out!" she whispered urgently, and his eyes widened.

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Please leave a review! : )


	26. Chapter 26

Happy New Year, All!! Second-to-last chapter, we're almost done : )

I should prolly preface this chapter by saying this: Guardian does NOT have a happy ending. Its sequel, The Spaces Between, however, does. Well, unless you're a weevil. So, uh, sorry for the crappy start to the new year. -Sheepish grin- Anyway, please don't hate me; things have to get worse before they can get better! Enjoy!

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Owen stood up straighter . "Right then," he said. "Jack Harkness gives his permission: I'm calling on the Goddess—"

_**NO**_

It echoed around the wreckage of Torchwood Three. The sun dipped crazily, scattering the light; suddenly the bay plunged into darkness.

"What the hell?" Owen demanded.

"That's not supposed to happen," Jack deduced dryly.

"No," Owen agreed. "No, it's not. Let's try that again, shall we?" He lifted an arm, looking around warily. "I said—"

The sun shot up, dipped again and flashed madly, sending shadows dancing across the wrecked sidewalk. The ground started to shake. Something deep within the crater of the ruined Hub crashed as it fell. Jack staggered and Owen lunged, catching him before he toppled over.

_**No  
Jack Harkness has not fulfilled his end of the bargain **_

The voice was calm and expressionless, loud enough to echo around the site of Jack's nightmares.

"The bargain was that I keep you lot safe!" Jack shouted to it, steadying Owen when he, too, lost his balance. "You wanted me to get rid of the Nepthalae, and I'm doing it. They won't come back, and I'll find your damn Guardian. I'm doing exactly what you told me to do!"

"You need to wake up," Owen said urgently. The rubble around them was shaking and lifting in the air. Bits of stone hovered, spinning, and Jack had a horrific, sickening flashback of a year that never happened, and monstrous, murderous metal balls that had decimated the population. As Jack and Owen stood, stones whizzed through the air, flying to the center and disappearing into the crater of the Hub, which creaked and groaned. The upturned sidewalk snapped down, and Jack realized with sudden confusion that the place was reconstructing itself, the landscape of his nightmare turning back into the Hub he had loved so well. The pieces of the black monument, a tall pillar that stood above the Hub, were growing from the sidewalk like a tree. Owen shook Jack's shoulder forcefully. "Wake up, _now, Jack!_"

Jack jolted awake. Red snorted, looking over at him. The horse's breath fogged in the early morning.

"Come on," Jack told the dappled gelding. Red heaved himself to his feet. "Something's about to happen." Jack rose as well and clambered bareback onto his horse, urging him with his feet to go back to camp.

A good mount was priceless, someone had once told him, and they were right. Jack dug his fingers into the dark mane as, bridleless and saddleless, he rode Red back to the dying embers of the campfire.

"Wake up!" Jack called to his friends, who were arranged in two bedrolls around the fire. "You have to wake up, something's—"

There was a sudden crash of thunder in the clear night. The Lioness jerked out of her bedroll and onto her feet, wearing her nightclothes and holding her sword. Daine and Numair also erupted from their blankets, Daine groping for her bow while Numair suddenly radiated power. Kitten, now a deep, fearful magenta, shrieked with everything she had. Daine lunged and clamped her hand around the dragon's muzzle.

The earth shook. "What's going on?" Alanna yelled.

"We have to get the Nepthalae out of their ship!" Jack called urgently. "Quickly!" he urged the panicking Red to turn—

Too late. The two mages, the knight, the dragon and the captain gaped in horror at the lightning that struck the broken down Nepthalae ship, sending hundreds of tiny, deadly bolts shivering across the metal.

Jack shook himself out of it first. "Numair, can you shield them?" he demanded. _No more death, _Jack thought frantically. _They can't all die, they can't! _

The mage looked up at Jack, eyes huge. "I—I don't—"

"Try! Dammit, Numair, try!"

Alanna crossed over and took his hand. Violet and black fire glittered around them both, and Numair held out his arm and raised his palm. Kitten put both her paws on the two mages' grasped hands, whistling shrilly against the thunder. Dark and violet power rose in a swirling disk above the ship, and sweat prickled Numair's forehead.

Jack dismounted. "Stay here," he told Red firmly and turned to Daine when the gelding tossed his head in protest. "_Make him stay._" And then he tore off to the ship at a run, coat flapping at his heels.

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Daine called after Jack, nearly inarticulate with horror, but he did not listen. Red squealed and reared, wind whipping at his dark mane and lightning throwing his rolling eyes in harsh relief. Daine held him, not letting him follow Jack, even though he clearly wanted to.

You have to stay, she cried.

But they'll kill him, they'll hurt him! the gelding shouted loyally, fighting with all his will.

He's immortal, Daine reminded him firmly. You're not. Chills raced down her spine and she turned to her lover, who prepared to battle with the elements. Numair's not immortal either, she thought frantically, terror rising up within her. But what else could they do? The Nepthalae were going to die, and she couldn't use Wild Magic in this kind of battle, not without her friends dying. Thunder roared from behind her.

Red whinnied after his rider and then stood still, hanging his head. He shouldn't hurt, the horse whimpered. He hurts too much.

Daine looked out. Jack was outlined by the light from Numair and Alanna's growing protective shielding, but lightning still crackled around the ship. There was a crash of thunder as lightning ripped through the sky. Daine spun when she saw the bolt of lightning hit the shield with a sharp _crack, _knowing with a sinking, terrified heart that that was going to wound Numair. She wished she hadn't been right. Daine lunged, catching the mage when he staggered under the effort of the shield, and he panted from the pain of the lightning. Alanna locked her knees, leaning on the both of them and Kitten held on tightly, shrilling. Numair gasped and Kitten's voice hitched in distress, although she kept on singing. A second lightning bolt hit the shield, thunder howling around them. "Magelet," Numair panted, eyes wide and frightened and Mithros bless it, Daine loved him so, "I can't—"

"If you kill yourself," Daine threatened very quietly, terrified, helpless, letting him lean heavily against her.

"You'll—hang me—by—my ankles—in the—deepest well?" Numair gasped, smiling weakly at her. It was something he very often threatened he would do to her, if she got herself hurt. Tears stung her eyes and she looked out to the ship and then back to her lover, utterly at a loss. Wild Magic was useless against the gods, and, for the first time, she cursed it.

"I'll drop you in the deepest pit," she whispered, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice as she hugged him, eyes sliding nervously to her dragon. "That goes for you too, Kit, and you, Ala—" She didn't see the next slice of lightning, but the thunder interrupted her. Numair sagged, wheezing. Alanna had fallen to her knees. Kitten was thrown back, off their joined hands. Daine lunged again, catching her dragon. "Kit!"

A small whistle answered her, and Daine held her close. "You're done," she whispered to the young dragon, frightened when she didn't protest. Another crash echoed around the meadow; Numair sagged again, and Daine supported him with her shoulder. She knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was hopeless. Two mortals could not defend something that the gods wanted gone. It was simply impossible. She looked back at Jack, silhouetted in the night, and silently willed him to hurry. Numair began to tremble in her arms and she turned to him in horror.

"Don't use your life force," Daine hissed, terrified and helpless and _hating_ it, as she saw his face contort with concentration. "Don't you dare, Numair Salmalin."

He wheezed weakly at her. "Magelet—I'll—collapse if I—don't," he panted.

A flash of lightning; a howl of thunder. Alanna made a small keening noise, and Numair became a dead weight in her arms.

"NUMAIR!" Daine screamed, lowering him carefully to the ground. Alanna, barely conscience beside him, tried to heave herself up. She extended her hand; a weak, washed out violet glow, but that was all. Daine rushed over to her.

"Can you—" she whispered, as Alanna's light extinguished. Daine gave a stifled, horrified sob and gasped in relief when Alanna squeezed her arm weakly.

"Drained," the lady knight wheezed, lit up briefly by lightening. She sagged, on the verge of passing out, and the following crash of thunder smothered Daine's reply. Carefully, she helped Alanna lie down next to Numair, so she could watch them both with her mage's head in her lap. She felt his pulse, sobbing again with relief when it fluttered against her fingers, weak but steady. Daine turned her head, feeling helpless, clutching a half-conscience Kitten to her chest. A low, horrified moan escaped from her throat.

The ship was in flames. She heard screaming; the hatch was lowering, but too slowly; it came to a shuddering halt. She watched Jack try to shoot the hinges with his revolver, to no avail; lightning split the sky again, crashing the ship and melting the metal. Huge sparks flung off the ship and she cried out in shock and fear as one stabbed Jack. He was flung in the air, arms flailing, and hit the ground, the sound drowned out by more thunder. Another lightning bolt, and another; the flames licked the ship. Daine tried to get up to help, unsure of what to do but it would be better than standing here, helpless; Red pranced against her hold, but it suddenly felt like a thousand hands were holding her down.

"Let me go!" she screamed, once, and everything went black.

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And you thought the cliffhanger was bad last time!

Please leave a review : )


	27. Chapter 27

Last chapter, everyone! Thanks again to all my awesome reviewers, you guys rock my socks! Guardian has been so much fun and I'm glad you guys were along for the ride!

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_Jack! Jack Harkness! I'm looking for—_

_Ianto?_

Coming back to life hurt. Air filled lungs that had emptied like old balloons, and blood pumped into an oxygen-starved brain. Jack gasped and sat up.

It was daytime, he was in a meadow and—

The Nepthalae!

Jack scrambled to his feet, but his breath caught and his eyes pricked at what he saw.

They were dead. He could smell it from here, and the smoking curling up from the wreck made it obvious. The ship was destroyed, completely and utterly. Huge craters marked where the lightning had struck, the metal melted around the edges and the tang of rust and blood was in the air. He swallowed, feeling sick. All those innocent people—

"Jack."

Jack blinked at his name and turned. Owen Harper was standing behind him, wide-eyed.

"I'm dreaming," Jack said flatly, and Owen shook his head.

His friend was insubstantial; Jack could see the wreckage through Owen's black leather jacket, and his feet did not touch the grass. "I can't talk to you when you're dead," Owen said, voice soft. He turned his head and saw the ship; wincing, he turned back. "I couldn't stop them. Jack. You have to believe me, okay, I couldn't stop them. I had no idea they were going to do this—Jack—I'm sorry—I didn't—I—" he took a deep, shuddering breath, collecting himself. The ghost, and that was what he was—he was fading before Jack's eyes – looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

"I know, Owen," Jack said quietly, absolving his friend of guilt. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine."

"Yeah, okay," Owen murmured, and vanished with the wind.

"It was mine," Jack whispered again, staring at the ruined ship. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Something soft touched his back and Jack jumped, spinning away. He relaxed when he saw Red, head hanging low and eyes rolling at the stench of death. A huge breath escaped Jack when he saw the horse was alive.

"Red," he whispered gratefully, touching his gelding's gray nose. Red locked his knees, clearly fighting terror, bending his neck to rest his nose on Jack's coat-covered shoulder. The fire retardant spell had done its job; Jack's poor coat was intact, as though nothing had happened, although his clothes beneath were somewhat singed.

That was something, Jack thought hysterically, and then immediately berated himself as Red's breath whispered out, warming his palm. He needed to calm down. He needed to take a deep breath, calm down, and ride Red back to make sure that his friends were okay. Oh, god, his friends—

That shook him out of his shock. Swinging up onto the horse's back, he urged Red to turn. The dappled gelding seemed grateful for that, spinning on a dime and racing to camp. He pitched to a halt, and Jack gasped at what he saw, leaping from Red's back and staggering to the ground so quickly that the horse started in surprise.

Daine was twisted at an odd angle, her body collapsed backward with Numair's head in her lap. Alanna was beside them, curled facing Numair on her side. Kitten was half on Daine's belly and half off, lying with her neck outstretched. They all looked dead.

Panic rose sharply in Jack's throat. I told the badger, he thought hysterically, I told him that the people I protect tend to die! He knelt down and placed two shaking fingers on Daine's throat, nearly collapsing with relief when he felt the flutter of her pulse. He moved to Alanna and Numair, and sighed deeply when they were alive as well, although Numair's heartbeat was worryingly faint.

"I'm sorry," he told the mage quietly, realizing that he had demanded too much of the man. "I won't ask something like this of you again."

Turning to Kitten, he sighed and held his palm over her nose. Jack swallowed as relief washed over him when he felt her warmed breath on his hand. Okay. They were alive. He took a deep, calming breath that seemed loud in the still morning. Everyone had died. That was nothing new. Everyone always died. But at least, at the very least, the people he had promised he would protect were alive.

Something hard clamped on his shoulder and yanked. He heard Red whinny in protest as he turned and saw Cloud, who looked beyond pissed off. Her teeth were digging sharply into his shoulder.

"Oh," he said. The pony's teeth tightened and her eyes sharpened with accusation. The animals here were too smart for their own good.

"I'm sorry," Jack told the steel gray mare quietly. "I really didn't mean for this to happen."

Red snorted and rested his nose on Cloud's shoulder. The pony released Jack, ears flat back, and lunged for Red. Darkmoon and Spots, Jack saw, were watching warily as Red darted back, half rearing.

"Stop it, both of you," Jack snapped. He should've felt foolish, but he really didn't. Maybe this was what it was like to go mad. "This isn't going to help."

The gray pony's ears remained back, and then suddenly pricked forward. Someone groaned, and Jack turned.

"Daine!" He rushed over to her side, Cloud hot on his heels.

She groaned again. "Jack?" she asked, slowly opening her eyes and then wincing at the sun. "What—" she paused, and Jack watched the memory steal across her eyes. "The Nepthalae!" she gasped, trying to sit up and held down by Numair and Kitten. "Oh—" she whispered, gathering the dragon into her arms and laying a palm frantically on Numair's cheek.

"They're alive," Jack told her softly, feeling guilty and unhelpful. A tremor went up his spine, and he fought for control. "Unconscious; I checked. Daine, I'm so—"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Daine interrupted him, one hand smoothing Numair's cheek and the other clutching Kitten. She leaned back and closed her eyes when Cloud rested her nose on her shoulder. There was a moment of silence as they spoke and then Cloud bit Daine, hard, as she had done to Jack. Daine waved her away and turned back to him. Firmly, she stated, "You were trying to help, and you don't know the laws of magic."

"There's laws?" Jack asked weakly, and Daine looked at him sharply.

"Stopping natural forces is one of the most dangerous things you can do," she told him flatly. "Stopping gods is deadly. You made Numair and Alanna do both." She wound a strand of Numair's hair around her finger anxiously before feeling his pulse for herself before sighing. "They're asleep," she whispered. "Drained, I'd imagine. They should be fine." She bent down to kiss Numair's forehead anxiously and there was a silence.

Jack looked away from the private moment, and then made a promise he couldn't keep. "I won't ask them to do it again." He looked at the ship, smoking in ruin. It looked like the Torchwood Hub in his dreams, he thought darkly, only it was above ground and there was no Owen to berate him. He suddenly wanted Ianto, he wanted his unfailing support or his hand on his shoulder or _something_, and the fact that his lover was not there was almost enough to swamp him.

"Liar," Daine accused. Jack bowed his head and nodded.

"You shouldn't be helping me," he said quietly. "I can do this on my own. I _should_ do this on my own." Ianto died because I should've been on my own, he wanted to tell her, but the words would not come.

"Don't be stupid," Daine growled at him. "They're our Gates too. You're not getting rid of us this easily."

Jack shook his head and sighed. "Am I a horrible person to be grateful?"

"No." Daine offered him a half-smile back. "You'd be a horrible person if you weren't grateful."

"Thank you," Jack whispered, but it was a lie.

There was a silence.

"They're dead, aren't they?" Daine asked, voice choking up as she gathered Numair and Kitten closer as if to defend herself from her own words. "The Nepthalae."

Jack nodded. "Yes," he whispered.

"That was wrong," Daine replied after a moment, wiping her eyes. "I don't care what the gods say. That was _wrong_." She looked up at the sky. "And don't think I didn't catch that," she told the clouds angrily. "You knocked me out. I don't care what you say—whether you were Ma or Da, the badger or Mithros himself—you did it and I'm not happy. Don't do it again, if you please."

_-A bit high and mighty of you to be demanding such things, kit,— _a familiar voice said in both of their minds, and Jack and Daine turned.

"You again," Jack growled, and Daine's voice was only moderately more welcoming.

"Hello, badger," she said flatly.

_-Do not blame me for the misdeeds of your two-legger gods,- _the badger growled, appearing in a burst of silver light and waddling over. _–The decision was not mine.—_

"But you approved of it," Jack snapped before Daine could say anything. Almost unconsciously, he tensed, shifting himself slightly so that he could dive in front of her. Numair had told him that the badger was Daine's mentor, but after this _fiasco_ he wasn't trusting anything that called itself a god. "I distinctly remember you calling weevils 'disgusting.'"

_-I do believe that that was a sentiment your Torchwood shared, was it not?— _The badger's eyes were cold and flat, and Jack's rage boiled over at the mention of his old workplace.

He shot to his feet furiously. "_Do not talk to me about Torchwood,_" he snarled, but Daine reined him in, reaching up and taking his balled fist in her hand. Jack turned back to her, Kitten and Numair in her lap, and some of the fury left him. Here and now, his friends were in need. He stepped back and crouched next to her again, still in front of her but slightly to the side this time.

"Why did they kill the Nepthalae?" Daine's voice was very soft, and very dangerous. She, too, was not pleased, and Jack wondered for a moment at the loyalty of these people he barely knew.

The badger sighed deeply. _–I do not imagine that you would understand, my kit,- _he said.

"Try me," Daine replied, tugging on Jack to sit next to her. He resisted, preferring to crouch. He could get up faster that way, should he need to. She didn't let go of his hand, and Jack was absurdly grateful, even as he spoke angrily.

"Because the Nepthalae were beyond their control," he sneered. "They did not fall under their godly—"

_-Do not speak of things that you don't understand, immortal,-_ the badger snapped. _–There is more to it than that. I don't suppose your Owen Harper explained any of it to you?—_

"Who?" Daine asked, looking up at Jack.

"Owen," Jack muttered. "My friend who's not really dead. He's been visiting me in my dreams."

Daine squeezed his hand. "You talk to Owen or no one at all," she remembered, and Jack nodded, squeezing her hand back.

_-If I may continue?—_the badger growled, _-We, as gods, are obviously in some semblance of control of this world. The inability to control something is, indeed frightful – but we cannot control Immortals, so why do we react with such fright to aliens? I will tell you why. It is for the same reason that you are not allowed in the Divine Realms, kit. The presence of a thing on this planet that is not from this planet or its divine counterpart strengthens Chaos. With every alien that sets foot here, Queen Uusoae gains a foothold.—_

"Queen who?" Jack demanded.

"The Queen of Chaos," Daine whispered, eyes wide. "The Great Gods stand for order," she explained, "and Uusoae stands for Chaos. The legend goes that when Uusoae breaks free from the Great Gods, the world will be destroyed. You think Uusoae stole the Guardian?"

"This would've been nice to know before," Jack snapped, but the batder spared him nothing more than an inscrutable look with its cold, flat eyes before turning back to Daine.

_-It is doubtful. She was, as you remember, imprisoned. However, the aliens were here in such great numbers, and you saw what they did. They attracted the basilisks, creatures who desire to learn new languages. Here, in front of them, was a culture and a language that they could not learn, not because we forbade it, but because it was literally beyond them. Their power means nothing to beings from other worlds. Aliens that step foot here defy our natural law and feed Chaos. If there are too many here, Uusoae will break free. They must be eliminated.— _

"What about me?" Jack growled. "Why don't you eliminate me?"

_-You cannot be eliminated. The Bad Wolf protects you.—_ The badger watched Jack with keen eyes. _–Although you, too, strengthen her.—_

"But we were going to send the Nepthalae away," Daine protested furiously. "They weren't going to stay here!"

_-It would have taken too long. The longer they are here, the more Chaos they cause. They had to be destroyed. Your mage is lucky not to have been destroyed with them.— _He nodded to Numair. Daine swallowed and Jack tensed further. _–The Graveyard Hag thinks that this is a warning to you, but I know you better, kit.— _

Daine scowled and Jack looked away. "What she did to Jack was unfair," she accused.

"Leave it," Jack whispered.

_-It was unfair,-_ the badger agreed, _-And it was reckless. We have no control of other Places, and now your Ianto Jones is aware of what is happening. Dead or not, that could be disastrous for this world. The Hag will be punished.—_

Jack's eyes whipped back to the badger. "Aware?" he asked, voice catching. The animal looked back at him, cold and intelligent. Daine squeezed Jack's hand again.

_-The Hag will be punished,- _it repeated softly and then turned to Numair and Alanna. Waddling over, it breathed on them. The exhalation came out as a white mist that swirled around the two mortals, and they both jerked awake.

_-Go and find the weevils,- _the badger commanded. _–Every moment they are here, they increase the foothold of Chaos.— _ He vanished with a burst of silver light and Jack was juts about to make a sarcastic comment when he was interrupted.

"What just happened?" Alanna demanded. Jack rushed to her side as Numair groaned.

"I feel _awful_," he complained, sinking back onto Daine's lap. Kitten gave a miserable cheep from somewhere around her left knee, and Daine gasped. She swooped down and kissed Numair, clutching him tightly.

"Don't you _ever_ scare me like that again!" she scolded, and then snatched Kitten into her arms. "Ever!" She squeezed the dragon tightly. Kit wriggled, squealing in protest.

"Urgh, I don't plan on it," Numair mumbled, sitting up a little for another kiss. Kitten trilled indignantly when they squashed her in between them, but neither seemed to care. When they parted, Numair rested his head on Daine's shoulder. "Can I throw up now?"

"No," Daine said, giggles that sounded hysterical muffling her voice. "You're alright now." She cupped the back of his head, fretfully stroking his long, dark hair, which had come undone from his neat horsetail.

"No, I think vomiting is a real possibility," Alanna told the sky, rolling onto her back. She closed her eyes, and spoke to Jack, who had his hand on her forehead in concern. Daine seemed to have Numair and Kit under control, but someone had to look after Alanna, too. "We couldn't do it, could we? They're dead." The lady knight's voice had turned soft and somber.

"Yes," Jack whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I won't push you so hard next time, I—"

"Don't be absurd," Numair scolded him, voice muffled by Daine's shoulder. "We couldn't just let them die." He clutched Daine to him then, and looked up at Jack. "But that's exactly what happened, isn't it?"

"It wasn't your fault," Jack told him softly, unable to look away from the mage's bitter dark eyes. "It wasn't anyone's fault but the damn gods here."

"What do we do now?" Daine asked, voice small. Numair hugged her closer.

"We look for survivors," Alanna replied darkly, beginning to heave herself to her feet.

"There aren't any," Jack said, and he rested a hand on the Lioness' shoulder, gently pushing her back down. "Rest. I'll go. You're exhausted." He held her down for a moment, making sure that she would not rise, before he heaved himself to his feet.

"They killed you," Alanna said after a moment, propping herself up on her elbows to look up at him. Daine, Numair and Kitten turned to Jack.

"Yes," Jack said.

"You came back to life," Numair stated the obvious.

"Yes."

"Oh," Daine said and Jack laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound.

"Don't worry about it. Rest here. I'll go see if they are any survivors, or if I can scavenge any technology from the ship."

Four pairs of perplexed eyes, and he almost laughed again at the absurdity of it.

"I might be able to find something for my wrist strap, or a containment unit for the weevils," Jack explained, forcing down the hysteria. "So we won't have to kill them to appease your bloodthirsty gods. It isn't disrespectful," he continued, a lie, "It's what people do out there." He waved his hand up to the sky. That was true.

The three exhausted Tortallans and the young dragon believed him, or they were too tired to argue. Either way, Jack nodded and beckoned Red over. He bridled the horse and saddled him this time, before riding him back out to the ship.

"We're going to have to keep going," he told the dappled gelding. "Despite all this. They're loyal to me, now. Shit. I'm really going to have to do this."

They reached their destination and Jack dismounted. Red lowered his head and pressed his nose onto Jack's shoulder, a clear indication that he was loyal to Jack, too.

Jack rested a hand on his cheek. "It's going to be scary," he warned his horse. "This isn't over yet."

Red bit his shoulder and squeezed before pulling back and butting him, gently, towards the ship.

Jack didn't need Daine to translate that. _I know. We're with you, _he seemed to be saying.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Jack replied sadly and, turning, marched himself to the ruined ship. He had bodies to count and technology to scavenge.

Just like Torchwood.

END PART I

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And that's it! I told you it got worse before it got better. But I can say this—Part II has a happy ending, I promise! It's, you know—just a long way off. At any rate, the first chapter of part II, The Spaces Between, will be posted TODAY in the Torchwood section, so those of you in the TP fandom can find it. Just go through my author's page. The next three chapters of Spaces will be in TORCHWOOD as well, because this one ended in the Immortal section.

The chapters for Spaces will be just as regular as they always are – maybe three a week for the next few, and then I'll try for one a week when I'm back in school. HOWEVER, be warned, not only am I taking Organic Chemistry II next semester, which is an awful course that requires an obscene amount of studying, but the climax of Spaces also needs a ton of work, so when we hit chapter twenty or so, updates will likely slow down. Never fear, however! The story is finished, so it will all get posted! It is very much not a WIP; I won't leave you guys hanging.

Anyway, it's been great, you guys rock and look! I hit 100 reviews; that's never happened for me before! Thank you all so much, and I'll see you for the prologue of Spaces! Please drop a review, I love to hear from you all!

:D


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